


For I Have Sinned

by AshesTheTerrible



Category: Borderlands, tales froms the borderlands
Genre: Anal Sex, Catholic Religion, Demons, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Excorcism, God - Freeform, Grooming, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Ouija Boards, Possession, Prayer, Priests, Temptation, condemnation, full body possession, giving in to sin, home posession, sexual tempation, sin - Freeform, take me to church AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-04-13 09:20:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4516428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshesTheTerrible/pseuds/AshesTheTerrible
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started with an Ouija board and a curious little boy. God has a grand plan for the bright young child, but Jack, a demon of the old world has other ideas in mind. </p><p>Years later, the incident with the innocent little 'board game' long forgotten, Rhys is being trained to become an exorcist, apprentice to one of the most respected Priests in the church. Rhys has been taught well, studied and listened with the utmost attention...but when faced with his first exorcism...nothing could have prepared him for the events to come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Playing with Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo I am finally getting around to contributing to this lovely 'Take Me to Church AU' all started by the lovely Renqa, sleazyfemmedad, lelelego, and jettiebettie on tumblr. I have been obsessed with this AU since it first started floating around, and now I finally have willed myself to write my own short fic based off it! 
> 
> This will be a six part story, and the first chapter just focuses on Rhys as a child playing with an Ouija board and Jack taking a curiosity in what God has in store for Rhys.  
> Since most my family is catholic (not me included) but it is what I know best, this story will be based around my knowledge of the Catholic faith and the superstitions I was raised around. Please take my humble offering as I run myself a bath full of sin.

Small fingers shake around the crisp new corners of the cardboard box. A box that looks just like a board game, innocent and rectangular in nature as he holds it like it is made of gold. There’s wispy typography decorating across the front of it accompanied by non threatening artwork of a jovial looking sun and a glow in the dark stars. Their greenish smolder flickers in the dark, charged by the shimmer of a small flashlight clutched tight in tiny digits. Bright brown and blue orbs glisten in the low beam, a blanket thrown over a tiny form sitting alone in his bedroom far past the hour that he should have been fast asleep. But childish temptation grabs hold of his small frame and wills him forward with little egging. He is so _curious._

The box is so new and _so_ enthralling as his tiny left palm runs across it with utter fascination dripping from his every movement. It’s even more enchanting because he _knows_ he shouldn’t have this. He _knows_ what he is doing is forbidden by his parents. That is what causes the little chills that nip at the back of his spine and brings his little heart to a racing flutter. But here he was, inquisitive hands smoothing over the laminated cardboard of the box, little lips silently forming around the letters on the front, letters he had trouble pronouncing to himself, tiny brain trying to latch around the strange wording.

_Ouija._

It had all happened so quickly the day previous, the day being his sixth birthday, a significant event in his small world. He’d been surrounded in gifts and sweet things that would most likely leave him with an aching stomach later on. Eager fingers had ripped through the colorful wrapping paper of his very last gift, tugging it free with an excited gasp. A board game. He _adored_ board games. But his thrilled nature was short lived as his mother had snatched the box away from him just as soon as he’d managed to get the paper off of it. There were stern words passed between his mother and his uncle who had been the giver of the gift in question.

Rhys had been confused as to why he couldn’t have the pretty purple and blue packaged game but his mother’s soft explanation later had convinced him he needed to be a good boy and listen to her. She’d shushed him and whispered to him that this was a ‘big boy’ game and he would have to wait until he was much older to have it. Rhys had listened of course because he was good and he wouldn’t want to disobey his mother.

But after all the spoils of the party had been cleaned away and the evening had wound down…that was when the little boy had caught a glimpse of the forbidden game stuffed down into the trash bin. Hidden away and forgotten, disposed of so carelessly.

Rhys was a good boy.

He always listened to his parents.

Rhys was such a good boy.

He always ate his vegetables. He was always kind to the neighbor children. He always picked up his toys after he was done playing. He always said his prayers before bedtime.

Rhys was a very good boy.

But there as he stood peering down at the glossy box something deep within him stirred. Something that he just couldn’t bury. The game was too pretty to never be played, ‘big boy’ game or not. So he’d fetched it from the trash against his mother’s warning and hidden it beneath his tiny twin mattress.

And here he was, the hour well past midnight, his heart thrumming against his ribcage like a caged canary, beating its little wings wildly. The adrenaline of doing something wrong writhed through his skin, prickling all the hairs running down his forearms and the nape of his little neck. Thumbs gently pry the top of the box from the bottom, getting it free with a squeak and a pop. Inside there is just a board with letters scrawled across it, the word ‘yes’ at the top left corner, the word ‘no’ at the right and ‘goodbye’ at the bottom middle. Pretty images of suns, moons and stars paint over the edges of the board as the little boy plucks it out of the box and lets it unfold before him. He smoothes the board down over his bed sheets and his eyes trail back into the cardboard box. A small triangular toy sits idle in the bottom, glowing pale green like the stars painted on the top of the game. Rhys picks it up with trembling, excited fingers, tilting his head as he looks to the little glass circle placed at the top of the triangle. He eagerly flips the game box over and reads through the instructions. Some of the words are big and difficult for his tiny tongue to run over but he manages to understand most of it. He is reading at a much higher level than all the children in his kindergarten class and his CCD at church.

He breaths in deep, filling small lungs with anxious oxygen. It’s a little scary, his ear pricking at every sound outside of the confines of his blanket fort. It’s late and he’s very sure even the monsters hiding in his closet have slunk off to sleep. He tells himself that they have anyway. He gently places the triangle toy or… _planchette_ as the instructions called it on the board and settles his two minute index fingers, one fleshed one prosthetic, on its lightly glimmering plastic surface.

Then he waits.

“Hello?” The little boy whispers to the board.

He’s sure that isn’t the way you do it, the box had a lot of very large words that were supposed to be said but Rhys had been too anxious to read them all.

“Hello?” He tries again, a little louder this time, wide eyes fixated on the triangle toy in wait.

He pauses, and he barely even notices that he is holding his breath as he does so. But nothing happens. He frowns down at the board. Maybe this really was a ‘big boy’ game and somehow the board he knew he was far too young to play. Maybe no ghosts wanted to talk to him because he was too little. Like the group of kids in his class that never wanted to share snacks with him because he had a prosthetic arm and fake eye and they claimed that was ‘weird’. Rhys sniffled softly and began to move his fingers off the toy when suddenly, the planchette shuddered, skittering across the board several inches.

Rhys gasped and looked down to the triangle, idle once more, his eyes the size of dinner plates. He wanted to be a little scared because he was absolutely _sure_ he had not moved it…but there is only blind exhilaration.

The planchette shifts again, this time more fluidly, dragging his fingers across the smooth board, the clear circle framing the letter ‘H’.

“H…” Rhys mouths quietly to himself.

The planchette roams once more, darting across the board with utter grace in a way that doesn’t seem scary, just gentle and leading.

H-E-L-L-O.

It pauses then as if waiting for a response. The grin that spreads across Rhys’ features is wildly amused. This game was _real._

“H-How are you?” Rhys whispers leaning down to the board, his nose nearly touching its glossy surface.

The planchette swivels gently, taking his fingers away in another elegant dance across the board, Rhys breathing each letter aloud so he can keep track of them.

I-M, G-O-O-D, K-I-D-D-O.

Rhys giggles softly. Kiddo sounded like something his father would call him.

“What’s your name?” Rhys questions eagerly down to the board.

The nerves of the initial disobeying of his parents is forgotten in the exhilaration of him talking to something, someone in this magic board.

Away the planchette goes again, smooth and steady, twisting over four letters in a quick but soft pace.

J-A-C-K.

Rhys’ smile widens. That is such a plain name for a ghost, or whatever this magic entity is. But it’s soft and pleasant as Rhys repeats it out loud, innocent lips testing it out quietly.

“Are you inside of the board?” Rhys whispers against the game, nearly pressing his lips to the surface in utter fascination.

The planchette shivers and moves, lithe and silky as all the times previous. It’s comforting, the way the object moves, comforting in a way that Rhys feels unafraid of. The planchette swivels up to the ‘No’ option on the board, resting there for a moment before scuttling back to the middle and sitting in wait.

“Then where are you?” Rhys whispers curiously, eyes big and beautiful and so very naïve.

Rhys fingers sway across the board, lead by the plastic planchette and he watches with baited breath, breathing each letter as it is spelled.

I-N, F-R-O-N-T, O-F, Y-O-U

Rhys swallows and his eyes flick forward, unable to see the edge of bed through his cover of heavy comforters.

Suddenly the end of the mattress dips with a new weight being put upon it. The bed springs creak and then still, the obvious divot in the bedding settling at the other end of the bed silently. Rhys can feel his heart in his throat, his breath coming too short to be satisfying to his lungs and his hands shake on the planchette slightly. He isn’t sure if he is afraid or simply anxious or maybe it is a little of both.

“Can I see you?” Rhys whispers more to the obvious weight on the end of the bed.

The planchette doesn’t move, but instead a light, breathy chuckle lulls to Rhys’ ears, kissing at them playfully.

“Sure kiddo. I’m already here.” Comes a voice from the other side of the bed and its low and masculine, like Rhys’ father’s only a little deeper and much more inviting.

Rhys’ father always sounds mean and cold, but this…this voice sounds almost kind.

Rhys slowly takes his fingers from the planchette and curls them around the blanket, gently tugging it off his head, rustling his wavy locks in the process. Rhys’ eyes peer across the bed in hesitation, prying the flashlight from beneath the covers and pointing it at the ceiling for light. Two glistening eyes flicker back at him, one blue as the ocean, the other green as the corn in the summer. Rhys clutches the flashlight with shaking hands as his pupils drawl gently over the figure before him. The figure is half shrouded by blue shadows cast from Rhys’ sea life nightlight, but Rhys can see most of him. There’s the glint of a smile as it spreads across the thing’s face and Rhys can just barely make out the sharps of pointed fangs amongst the rest of his teeth. Rhys’ eyes dart back and forth, unsure of what to look at first. He looks like a man, for the most part. Rhys gasps as he soaks in the man’s curled horns, jutting from his temples and easing backward gracefully, they look smooth and hard to the touch. Big wings flutter and shift behind him as he settles the leathery appendages against his back gently. He has a scar across his face, something that glows in the dark like some sort of lantern and Rhys doesn’t fully understand.

He’s like a dragon, the ones out of Rhys’ favorite picture books.

Rhys stares unmoving, pulse fluttering wildly.

“Don’t be afraid kiddo. I won’t hurt ya.” Jack purrs and for some reason Rhys believes him.

Rhys pauses for a moment, as if assessing his next move then slowly he scoots across the bed toward the utterly fantastic being sitting before him. Rhys peers up at him eyes big and full of nothing but childhood innocence. He’s amazed by everything that Jack is and wants nothing but to touch the beautiful creature before him.

Rhys reaches up a small hand toward one twisting horn but pauses as his mother’s voice reminds him that ‘invading other’s space without asking is rude’.

Jack chuckles at the kid’s hesitance.

“Go ahead kid.” He whispers grinning and leaning down slightly.

Rhys runs tiny hands over the rough texture of the curled horn, feeling every dip and curve and jut. Rhys is smiling wide and wondrous.

“Are you a dragon?” Rhys whispers plopping back down onto the bed and tilting his head curiously.

Jack shakes his head slow, eyes but mere slits as he looks at the kid with observant eyes. The kid is so curious about everything and he isn’t _afraid_ like he should be. The kid was going to be something else. Jack knew… he could see it behind the kid’s eyes. He could see what he would become…the very thing that Jack despised the most. All black robes and rosaries clutched in his fingers. A warrior of God, a servant to the great All. _Well played._ Jack thought to himself laughing at the plans in store for the curious young thing before him. God had plans for this one. Oh did he ever have plans. It was that lack of fear that would ultimately make him great. If left to simmer and grow oh would it ever be something… something immense and horrid.

But Jack saw something more in him than just that. There was a weakness there set just beneath the skin, pretty and vulnerable…if he played his cards just right…this kid could become quite the interesting little endeavor.

Jack’s lips twisted into a malicious smile.

He was good at playing these games with the big man upstairs. Always finding ways to defy his little plans. Humans were fun to toy with. Humans were disgusting little creatures but oh were they ever pretty. Pretty and desperate.

“Not exactly kid.” Jack whispered gently plucking the game board off the mattress and tucking it back into its box.

“These things are dangerous kiddo. Best I take this with me cupcake.” Jack said in a scolding fashion as he tucked the game beneath his arm and stood from the bed, black dress shoes clicking against the bare wood of Rhys’ floor.

“Yes sir…” Rhys whispered sadly.

Jack moved swiftly toward the young child, fingers curling around the boy’s chin, tilting his head back softly.

“You be a good boy now Rhys.” Jack said patting his cheek gently before turning to go.

Rhys watched with big heterochromatic eyes.

“We’ll be seeing each other again kiddo.” Jack breathed before dissipating into the dark spaces of the room, leaving Rhys to the silence and shadows, bewildered and unmoving.

 

 


	2. Exorcism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhys has trained all his life to preform Exorcisms, but nothing could have prepared him for this. Also forgive me if my latin is off, I tried lol.

****

Exorcism

**Twenty Four Years Later:**

The afternoon was drab as the young man peers out the vehicle window. Heavy rain clouds crowd the sky, looming over the world and rendering it in a gloom that was so very appropriate considering the events at hand. Fat drops of ran stream in quick rivers over the glass, the young man drawing in a heavy breath that extends his lungs then expels back over his thin lips in a low whisper. Twisting oaks stretch as far as the eye can see, dense and old, gnarled branches reaching up to scrape against the dreary sky. Their bark was dark with the influence of rain, leaves heavy and dripping with moisture. They were old things, having stood the tests of times, grand and knowledgeable. The road twists through the old trees, branches reaching almost protectively over the hood of the car as they passed.

The patter of rain on the vehicle was steady and rhythmic as it fell from the churning heavens, as if God had set the mood for what the two men within the vehicle's confines were being thrust into. Rhys said a small prayer beneath his breath and his fingers intertwined upon his lap.

_Please God let me be unafraid._

A crack of thunder slaps across the firmament and it causes Rhys to startle in his seat, a small gasp coming forth from his lungs. The sound growls out through the landscape rattling through his tender bones and he can feel the tremble down in his follicles.

_Please God give me the strength to be unafraid._

Tender eyes glisten from the driver’s seat of the vehicle, settling on Rhys gently.

“It is alright to be nervous my son.” Father Felix whispered his tenor even and easy as he spoke.

Rhys nodded slowly.

“But you must go in without fear Father, for the demons will use all your deepest terrors against you. That is where they seek their power and it is their mightiest of weapons. You must ask God for the strength to ward them off. You must be strong.” Felix breathed drawing in a deep breath.

Felix was as strong as the ancient trees that lined the road that they traveled. There is such knowledge behind his eyes, one blue, one hidden behind a leather patch. Rhys has never asked Father Felix how he lost his eye. He tells few people of how it happened, shrouding the injury in mystery and leaving others to guess. There have been many speculations had by those that surrounded the older Priest, but none were confirmed to be true. Father Felix was a strong being, holding an aura that was beyond anything Rhys had experienced before. He had seen many things in his days, some that still haunted the older man’s dreams. There were things that could not be un-seen in this world, things that even after years passed the memories still clung like unwanted guests.

Exorcism was an art form that not many were willing to take into their own hands. There were not many of them left, Priests that would perform Exorcisms. The trade was dying, most too afraid to dip their toes into such a dangerous way of living. But Felix saw it differently. If there were no Exorcists left, there would be no one to drive out the demons that had found their way into the souls of the troubled. There would be lives lost and the Devil would laugh as God’s warriors became beings that only knew fear. Felix would not let this happen. Felix knew that there was evil lurking in this world, and he would not let his God down. He would help those that could not help themselves and he would drive out the seeds of sin that the devil had placed amongst humanity. These demons treated life like a child’s play toy, without regard for anything but their own amusement. Felix saw this as his duty. When God had called him, he had answered.

Rhys could see the horrors that Father Felix had been subjected to floating behind his one good eye. Felix had seen many things. Good and evil alike. It all just came with the territory. Rhys knew this all too well. Rhys had been called just as Felix had been, and Rhys too…had answered.

After years of training, learning the proper techniques of Exorcism, here Rhys stood in the mouth of it all. He’d learned well, listened diligently, read all the literature, but now it would all come into blooming reality.

He was about to perform his first Exorcism.

“May I ask you something Father?” Rhys speaks up suddenly, eyes searching over Father Felix’s unchanging face.

Father Felix’s grizzled hands shifted on the steering wheel, eyes focused on the road ahead, the windshield wipers creating a steady rhythm as they swayed across the glass.

“Of course.” Felix replied his voice gentle as it came from his tongue.

“How did you lose your eye Father?” Rhys questioned softly.

A silence settled over the two Priests as they sat in the belly of the 69 Lincoln, the only sound being the patter of rain on the hood of the vehicle.

“I am entitled not to lie to you by God and my own conscious, so I will tell you the truth son. I lost my eye during my very first Exorcism Father Rhys.” Felix breathed.

The sentence caused cold chills to run down the length of Father Rhys’ spine, a sickly feeling settling heavy down in the depths of his gut.

“She was just a girl, frail and fragile, auburn hair. I had known her, before the demons invaded her. She was a childhood friend, such a lively spirit healthy and brave. But she was curious and her curiosity would be her ultimate downfall. She was easy prey for the influences of demons, like a baby deer coming to water. He thirst for knowledge turned her from the protective hand of God and the Devil was there to lure her. I should have never taken on the task of performing an Exorcism on someone I knew personally. That is why I have always stressed this with you. It is dangerous; emotions can be easily used against you, just as the demons used them against me. She had many demons within her, minion demons that followed one powerful alpha. He was vicious. More than anything I could have prepared for. No matter how I tried, he would not give me his name, and so I had no power over him. He simply called himself the ‘ _Heros quod est necessisarius’_ …” Felix whispered his oceanic eye glossing over as old wounds came to the surface.

‘ _The hero that is needed’_

Rhys chewed the name between his teeth. Demons often toyed with names, giving themselves false titles shrouding their real names deep within their depths. All demons knew not to give their name to a Priest. That was the point of forcing it out of them. A name was a powerful thing that could be used against evil or against good. It worked as a weapon for both sides of war.

“I lost my eye. She lost her life. Demons are powerful entities Rhys. Never underestimate the trickery that they can weave. I lost my eye and failed her soul because I was weak to emotion and to temptation. But I have taught you all that I know, so you will not make the same mistakes son.” Father Felix grunted his words stern and unshakeable.

There was great power behind the deep set wrinkles carved in his face. With great knowledge came great power.

The vehicle slowed as they came to a muddy dirt driveway, the red soil moistened with the rain. The tires of the old Lincoln bumped and rocked as they shifted over potholes carved deep into the old road. Branches hung lower over the brush enveloped driveway, dripping heavy droplets of moisture on the windshield. The driveway was long and twisting, winding back into a small clearing of trees. Rhys watched with wary eyes as the old Victorian home came into view.

It stood faded white with age, vines running up one of the sides having grown unbridled for many years. The home is large, pointed steeples and wrap around porches. A plantation home at one time Rhys supposes, the leftovers from a time long passed, the fields no longer fat with crops the home stands as the only reminder of the plantation that was once there. Father Felix parks the car and takes the key from the ignition. He breathes out long and low and adjusts his collar in a professional manner. Rhys pops the passenger door open, sliding out from the big vehicle gracefully. He stands with his slender hand on the door for a moment, coming to face with the big white house for the very first time. She is a mighty thing, mean and aged and she holds something dangerous brewing within her walls. There were evil things lurking here in the shadows of her belly, Rhys could just smell it.

So Rhys stands, looking at her as she looks to him. He doesn’t look like much. A lanky young man tall and slender, his wavy amber locks gelled back neatly. He’s dressed casually, in just ironed blue jeans and a pair of alligator skin boots, conjoined with a black button down dress shirt and his Clerical collar. He seems too fragile to be such a force against evil. Too thin and too gentle, yet there he stands, determined and ready to go to war with the malevolence brewing with the home.

Rhys shut the door with a slam and followed Father Felix up onto the wide, wooden front porch. The old boards creaked and groaned beneath their weights, boots thudding hollowly as they came to the front door. Felix rung the small doorbell, the telltale chime echoing through the inside of the home.

There’s the sound of heavy footsteps from within the confines of the space and the front door comes open with a long squeal of hinges that are in desperate need of oiling. Lightening illuminates the front porch and the open doorway as a frazzled looking woman stands before them, peering through the screen with wide, bloodshot eyes.

She is adorned in a soft looking yellow dress, ovular matching earrings dangling down against her neck. Despite the distraught look on her slender, beautiful, pale face she was dressed as if she was about to go to Sunday mass. She swept a strand of fiery red hair behind her ear and unlatched the screen door, quickly pushing it open with a small groan.

“Father Felix, Father Rhys. Please, Please come in.” She stuttered ushering both men inside the home.

Rhys wiped his boots on the mat and slowly followed Felix inside. The home was dimly lit, just lamps here and there to cast faint shadows on the entryway. The woman clicked the door closed behind the two Fathers and Felix turned to take her outreached hand and shake it in a way that was comforting and genuine.

“Mrs. Lennord. It’s good to meet you in person.” Felix whispered.

The woman addressed nodded her head slowly.

“I only wish it wasn’t in these circumstances.” She whispered back closing her eyes for just longer than the standard blink.

The call had come to Felix about a week ago. A case that needed his assistance. The church had affirmed that the victim was indeed not suffering from mental illness and they believed it to be a very real case of demon possession. And so here they were, Rhys faced with his first time in the field and everything within him prickled with anxiety.

The home was so quiet. Too quiet. The silence creeps into every nook of Rhys’ being and entwines deep within his bones. Rhys gripped his hand around his briefcase tightly, eyes scanning the furniture of the home diligently.

“Henry took the other children to stay elsewhere. I didn’t want to subject them to this.” The woman explained sighing out slowly.

Felix nods.

“Would…would either of you like some tea?” She asks trying to ease the awkward silence that hangs heavy in the room.

“No thank you ma’m. It’s best if we get started right away.” Rhys says.

The woman nodded gravely in understanding. Rhys gently set his briefcase down and opened the small hatch. He pulled out a pouch full of miniature crosses and Felix took them from him, taking them to begin placing them in every room of the vast home. The smell of burning sage fills the home as Rhys walks the halls, every step careful, whispering prayer beneath his breath, the walls seeming to shudder with every word.

There was something strong here.

There is a vicious groan from the second floor, an echoing cry that grabs Rhys’ attention as he walks through the kitchen, blessing the space and asking for God’s guiding hand to cleanse this place where evil has found refuge. Rhys pauses and listens as the moans swim through the grand span of the building.

He breathes in heavy.

_‘Lord I am humble as I ask for your protection. Give me strength to disperse what evil crawls here. Guide me and lay your hand upon me as I do your will all mighty God’_

Rhys finds himself at the stairwell, Felix coming to his side. Mrs. Lennord is there with solemn eyes. She must be there too, the presence of a mother being a strong force against the evil entity that had chosen to take residence in her beloved son.

The stairs creak with Rhys’ heavy boots, following the moans of agony as they ring through the halls. A crack of thunder causes the old home to shudder and the lights flicker for a moment. But Rhys does not pause, God is with him.

God will give him strength.

Rhys is armed with the contents of his briefcase. A bible, holy water, a rosary, a white candle. His fingers curl around the old doorknob, pausing momentarily. Something waits behind that door. Something powerful and dark, something heavy and writhing.

Rhys takes in a heavy breath and prepares himself. God is with him. God will keep him safe.

The door comes open and Rhys enters, flanked by Father Felix and as soon as the stale air hits his nostrils he is overwhelmed by a sick feeling that causes his stomach to twist. The young man sits huddled on the twin bed, knees drawn up, fingers curled around his legs. He looks to be in his early twenties, hair matching his mothers, frame shivering as he rocks on the balls of his heels.

Wild eyes flicker toward Rhys, big and green and vicious. There is barely a sense of humanity lurking behind the wide pupils of the boy. The boy tilts his head as the men enter, a wide, venomous grin cutting out over his thin features.

“Well, well, well _Hello_ kiddos.” The young man purrs uncurling from his position and stretching himself out on the bed in a crazed fashion.

The demon grinned as the two Fathers stood in the room, warriors of God ready to do battle with him.

 _Beautiful._ He thinks to himself licking the borrowed lips of his host.

He chuckled under his breath, eyes playful and terrifying. The kid had been fun for a while, a good church going kid. But he was an easy mark in all honestly. He may have been in that pew every Sunday in his good jeans but that hadn’t stopped him from fucking that pretty girl from down the street in the back of his truck when her parents had thought she was going out on a nice date with the kid. He cursed just about as much as any normal twenty year old and lied. He cheated occasionally and didn’t pray as much as he should have. Easy prey. But he was young and seemed like a fun little plaything for the time being.

But frankly Jack was bored with him.

The kid was crowded with minions now that had swarmed to the much stronger, more experienced demon, wanting to feed off of his host like buzzards to a carcass. A little too close to comfort for the older entity who was more into being the _only_ demon within a body. He wasn’t very keen on sharing. Jack’s borrowed eyes flicked to the older Priest at the right of the room.

Well, a familiar face. That just made things a little more interesting.

Jack’s smile curls tighter.

It had been many, many years since the demon and the older Father had come face to face. Back then, Felix was a lot younger, and a lot more inexperienced. Jack had cost him an eye and the meager life of the little human that he’d taken for a host. It had ruined Felix, Jack can still see the old wound set deep in Felix’s heart and yet…yet the man’s faith had remained unhindered. He was strong, very strong. This unnerves Jack just slightly. The Priest was much more prepared than the last time they had stood and locked eyes. He was going to be a hard match to win. Not that Jack really cared. This host was of no use to him really, he’d been waiting for a fight, waiting for a little _fun_ just to make the possession worth it.

And he was about to get quite the war.

The young man cocked his head back and forth cackling wildly under Jack’s complete control.

Then the demon’s eyes settled on Felix’s much younger counterpart.

Oh?

This was new.

Jack hummed in the back of his throat. The kid was young, new, and put to slaughter like a calf. He hadn’t done this before, Jack could smell the hesitance on his being and the scent was oh so good to his nostrils. The young Father was just _ripe_ for the picking. He was gorgeous. He was all long slender legs and bright heterochromatic eyes that sparkled with faith in a disgusting little way. Oh, Jack just wanted to douse that fragile little flame. The young Priest was just about the most beautiful little thing that Jack had ever laid eyes on. A seed of familiarity settled in the back of Jack’s head.

He’d _seen_ those pretty little brown and blue eyes before…but…where?

Jack dug deep into his memory, working the kid’s looks through his teeth and then…it hit him.

That beautiful, innocent little boy that had summoned him with the Ouija board. Jack sucks in a slow breath.

My, he’d really grown into himself, Jack thought licking the fronts of his teeth deviously.

Back then he’d just been a naïve little thing, so curious and so brave. And now he stood following the calling to do God’s work, just as brave and even more beautiful. He was _perfect._

Jack was pretty sure he’d never wanted anyone more in his entire span of existence. He could feel the deep twist of need down in his very _bones_. He had to have him. He had to make that lithe young man _all his._

What was his name, what was his name? Jack thought slowly.

Rhys. _Rhys_ was the delicious little thing’s name.

Rhys held his rosary in his slender fingers, a bible in the other, eyes fierce as they locked with the feral orbs of the young man on the bed. He clicked his teeth at the Priest, chattering and giggling. Rhys quickly made the sign of the cross over himself and began into prayer, fingers rubbing over the rosary in hand, reading from the bible strong and mighty. His stance was unshakable, so ready to thrust himself onto the front lines. Oh, Jack appreciated the enthusiasm.

“Demon I command you to leave this soul blessed by God and go back into the fiery pits from which you came! I cast you out demon in the name of The Father, The Son and The Holy Ghost!” Rhys yelled making the sign of the cross in the air with his rosary.

Jack seethed and writhed, crawling down the bedside on all fours, barking at the priest like a rabid dog. Rhys held his ground against the possessed man, eyes stern and hard.

“In the Name of Jesus Christ, our God and Lord, strengthened by the intercession of the Immaculate Virgin Mary, Mother of God, of Blessed Michael the Archangel, of the Blessed Apostles Peter and Paul and all the Saints. And powerful in the holy authority of our ministry, we confidently undertake to repulse the attacks and deceits of the devil. God arises; His enemies are scattered and those who hate Him flee before Him. As smoke is driven away, so are they driven; as wax melts before the fire, so the wicked perish at the presence of God!” Rhys yells louder voice harsh as the man backs up, digging his nails across the wood flooring, snarling like some trapped animal.

Oh this was Jack’s favorite part… _acting._

Jack growled and hissed, bearing up disgustingly useless human teeth, he gagged and hacked reacting against the Priest’s powerful prayer.

“Vilis sordid sacredos.” Jack snarled twisting the young man’s head and drooling down onto the floor savagely.

“You shall speak to me in native tongue demon!!!” Rhys demands and the demon just sniggers.

“Ohhhh what’s wrong cupcake big words hard for you?” Jack chuckles standing and dropping the wild animal act.

“Well, in case you didn’t catch it the first time big guy, fuck you, you dirty priest.” Jack coos throwing a sly wink to the Father and crossing his arms over his chest.

The young man looked horrid, sick with fever, blisters and scratches. Jack had dragged him through the mud and left him to rot, the kid really couldn’t take much more. It was hard to be witty and cunning in such an ugly form, but Jack dared not let loose of the host yet, he needed him for just a little longer. Long enough to get…what he wanted.

Rhys does not flinch and does not shake, he stands like a sturdy building, strong and hard.

“In the Name and by the power of Our Lord Jesus Christ, may you be snatched away and driven from the Church of God and from the souls made to the image and likeness of God and redeemed by the Precious Blood of the Divine Lamb!” Rhys continues with his prayer diligently.

Jack feels the burn of prayer, but he is old, and he is experienced. The words merely nick at his skin like small wasps, he hardly feels the sting.

Jack throws his head back and stalks close to the Priest, sauntering across the room with catlike grace. His eyes are predatory as he hunts Rhys down, every movement cunning and slow, assessing Rhys’ weak points, deciding the best way to take him down. He’s mere moments from the fatal blow of teeth to the jugular.

He loves the look that reflects in the Priest’s eyes. Fear. Beautiful, beautiful, fear. That is always the look that Jack conjures up after letting the Priest think he’s actually winning and successfully casting the demon out. He loves the look of defeat in their orbs.

Jack clicks his tongue and tuts at the young Father. He pouts dramatically and looks to Rhys with keen pupils.

“You’re so diligent pumpkin. What a pair of lungs you’ve got there. But…I bet you’d sound so much better screaming my name, instead of your petty little prayers sweet cheeks.” Jack husks making to reach out and stroke a finger along Rhys’ jaw.

Rhys steps back from the demon and draws the sign of the cross over the possessed man. Jack hisses and cringes slightly. Now that smarted.

“Kiddo, is there really a need to be so _aggressive?_ Why don’t we talk huh? Man to man, Priest to demon, sexual being…to sexual being.” Jack snarled licking his lips hungrily.

“Your foul words do nothing demon, for here God is all powerful and his hand protects me. I ask the Lord to assist in the casting out of such a demon!” Rhys barks thumbing his rosary frantically.

He can feel his palms beginning to sweat and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It’s the _way_ the demon speaks, his tongue wispy and smooth, each syllable like velvet silk that wraps around Rhys’ every sense.

Jack can smell the lust emanating from the kid. He was a godly man, trying his best to cast out his foul thoughts, but sometimes…he was weak. Sometimes he was helpless against his own bodies disgusting desires. Desires that Jack only saw absolute splendor in. The kid had become strong over the years, but there were still holes in his mighty structure. The innocent little incident with the Ouija board left a crack in Rhys’ protection. He’d subjected himself to the world of demons and spirits and it made him weak to their holds. He knew no better, but Jack did. Jack knew what the little happening had done. It had left a wonderful little imperfection in the Father and Jack was going to use it to _rip him open._

Jack can see right through the kid like glass. Pretty, breakable, _glass._

“ Let us pray.” Rhys commands and Father Felix joins him, bible also in hand.

“ God of heaven, God of earth, God of Angels, God of Archangels, God of Patriarchs, God of Prophets, God of Apostles, God of Martyrs, God of Confessors, God of Virgins, God who has power to give life after death and rest after work: because there is no other God than Thee and there can be no other, for Thou art the Creator of all things, visible and invisible, of Whose reign there shall be no end, we humbly prostrate ourselves before Thy glorious Majesty and we beseech Thee to deliver us by Thy power from all the tyranny of the infernal spirits, from their snares, their lies and their furious wickedness. Deign, O Lord, to grant us Thy powerful protection and to keep us safe and sound. We beseech Thee through Jesus Christ Our Lord. Amen.” Rhys bellows and the words sear along Jack’s skin.

The kid is strong, but not strong enough.

“Yes! Yes! Let us pray!! C’mon you big bad man upstairs cast me out!! Cast my unworthy being out!!” Jack chimes in throwing his hands up jeering the Priest’s prayer.

Jack waits silently, as if expecting something grand and when it doesn’t come he bursts out in vicious laughter.

“Huh. Guess God’s not here sweetheart. Maybe he knows…what I know.” Jack sneered cracking his neck and holding his hand out.

A wooden chair set idle across the room flies to Jack’s fingers, he twirls it around and sets himself down casually, crossing his legs one over the other elegantly.

Rhys feels his heart thundering in his chest. This demon is strong, very strong. Rhys can see the worry in Felix’s intelligent eyes and a horrid feeling spreads out through his veins.

The possessed man grins to Rhys, tilting his head back and chuckling lightly.

“You know nothing demon!” Rhys shouts turning the pages in his bible frantically.

Jack sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Ohhh Rhys, Rhysie, _baby._ Don’t act so coy my little cupcake. I know what keeps you up at night. Those dirty little magazines you keep so well hidden eh?” Jack coos cocking an eyebrow playfully.

Rhys feels his skin prickle. The demon is using his fears against him, that is all, he has God on his side.

 _God forgive me for I have sinned. I have sinned and I am weak but forgive me and help me so I may cast this evil from this place._ Rhys thinks to himself anxiously.

“Silence demon! You may not speak here for I ask God to make this home his and cast you out from where you are not welcome!” Rhys commands with a small shake behind his tone.

“Oh but we are having so much fun kiddo. Or is this not exactly your form of fun? Of course, silly me, you like something more along the lines of sweaty, gorgeous, men fucking each other right sweetie? Well that _can_ certainly be arranged you know. Why don’t you come sit on daddy’s lap pretty boy, I can make you feel so _good.”_ Jack snarls through his teeth beckoning long fingers at Rhys.

The young man’s nails are cracked and broken as he moves them in a ‘come-here’ fashion, blood caked over ragged digits.

Rhys feels a heat burn in the back of his throat, an old time weakness that was between only him and God. His unholy desires he had tried so hard to bury so long ago. Yet here the demon sat taunting him, bringing all of that old confusion back once more.

Jack knows he’s hit a weak point. He can see it in the Father’s eyes.

Jack bucks his hips up, running hands over his groin obscenely and letting loose of an absolutely disgusting moan.

“C’monnn Rhysie why dontcha come over here and fuck me kitten?” Jack taunts throwing Rhys a pitiful expression.

Rhys feels bright flush run rampant across his slender cheeks and suddenly he feels unbearably hot beneath his collar. The sound of the demon’s voice is all around him, such revolting language that awakens old need in Rhys. He feels his cock stir and he begs God for forgiveness. He is weak. He is so weak.

“I-In the name of God reveal yourself to me monster! What is your name demon!?” Rhys cries flicking Holy water in the direction of the possessed man.

Jack hisses and kicks his foot, the chair flying backward just out of range from the water, leaving Rhys looking on with frightened eyes.

“Oh kiddo I’m hurt. You mean, you don’t remember me kitten?” Jack pouts.

Rhys opens his mouth to shout more prayer but the demon beats him to it.

“Hey kiddo, Jack again, you remember now? H-E-L-L-O?” Jack sniggers toying with the young Priest like a tomcat having caught hold of a field mouse.

Rhys stops dead, crucifix in hand, breath leaving him all in one fleeting expel. Jack’s eyes flicker with hell fire.

“Good to see ya kid.” Jack snaps.

With that every piece of furniture in the room raises into the air flipping over and thudding against the ceiling, comforters falling from the bed, lamps smashing into the floor as dressers are turned. Shelves and trinkets alike come crashing down onto the bedroom floor in a display of power beyond what either Priest has ever dealt with.

“LEAVE THIS PLACE DEMON!!!” Rhys screams over the noise.

Suddenly the possessed man’s eyes roll back in his head and he drops to the ground in a limp heap all furniture coming down at the same time clattering to the floor loudly. The mother’s wails echoed through the room as she rushed to her fallen child.

He’s alive, but just barely.

“Anthony, Anthony are you there??” She cried cradling her child frantically.

Bleak eyes come open and cracked lips barely part.

“Mom?” He whispers and the cry that follows it from the hysterical woman is all relief.

She strokes shaky fingers through child’s hair. Rhys and Father Felix are there, blessing the child and continuing to pray until it is certain that the demon and his minions have left the boy. There is a wave of reprieve that falls over the destroyed bedroom, a mother’s sobs of thanks echoing through the space.

Thirty minutes later there are goodbyes and thanks, the mother having loaded her son to take him in for medical attention, addressing his dehydration and lacerations. Rhys slides into the Lincoln and breathes out shakily. He’s shaken.

He’s more than shaken.

The door clicks closed as Felix enters the vehicle and the man looks several years aged. He starts the monstrous car and scratches at his snowy mustache. There is quiet between them, the horrors of what the past hour had contained settling over the interior of the machine. There aren’t even words to be had in such a situation. There isn’t anything to say. They were both there. They both saw. Rhys wonders if Father Felix will pry into what had happened back there, but he doesn’t. He leaves it lay and Rhys is so thankful for that. The tires grip the muddy earth as Felix backs up and turns in the drive. Rhys leans back into the seat, sighing, his heart still thundering, and nausea still clinging with him stubbornly. His tired eyes flick to the rearview mirror, wanting one more glance at the old home in all her wonder.

There he is in the back seat, glittering mismatched green and blue eyes flickering like lost jewels, the whites of his fangs curled up in a vicious snarl.

Rhys startles and gasps, lightening flickering in unison with the sight. When the flicker is gone, so is the creature and Rhys is left panting and questioning his sanity.

“Are you ok Rhys?” Felix asks taken aback by the young man’s sudden outburst.

“Y-Yes Father. I’m fine.” Rhys lies.


	3. Hauntings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeezus fucking Christ I have neglected this story for way too long. I mean...I have neglected all of my stories but this one especially. Just hadn't been feeling writing lately, but now I am on a mission to finish this project up. I was too proud of it to let it die. One thing about me is even if my stories seem like I won't continue...eventually...maybe years down the line, they get finished lol. So without further wait, here is the next installation to this sinful ride. My seat in hell is comfortably reserved.

Hauntings

Rhys’ front door felt heavier as his slim fingers reached for the familiar brass handle. His hand was unsteady as he offered the lock his simple, elderly key, the metal object clunking against the side several times before finally meeting its mark with a satisfying click. A heavy sigh plagued him as he shoved the weighty door open, forcing it to allow him passage. The screen door slammed behind him, rattling in its frame and causing the lanky man to nearly startle right out of his skin.

He stood in the doorway, palm clutched to his racing chest as he stared out the foggy glass of the door that was in desperate need of a good cleaning. The grey sky taunted him through the screen, clouds still fat and heavy with rain, the smell of wet concrete assaulting his nose like some long last friend.

He slammed the oak door closed with only slightly too much force, the sound echoing through the hallway of his home. He needed to shut it all out…the outside world, the events that haunted him from the morning. He needed to leave it all lying there on the front lawn. He couldn’t handle the teasing; he couldn’t handle the world in the moment at hand.

His back pressed against the door firmly, his breathing heavy and strained.

Frantic fingers combed through his perfect locks that had come astray, falling in graceful little tendrils that kissed his forehead.

Father Felix’s voice rung in his ears like an old bell, swimming and churning and it was causing everything in him to catch fire.

Felix had paused as he’d killed the engine to the big beast of a vehicle, the two fathers sitting in dead silence within the cab. There had been little more than slow breaths between them for several moments. The quiet was thick and uncomfortable with words that had yet to be uttered, with questions that went without being asked.  

Rhys wasn’t about to allow them to be said either.

Instead he simply thrust his door open and exited the vehicle as Felix’s one good eye had followed him in curiosity and worry.

Rhys had pressed the door closed a little less than gently, his eyes flicking to the monstrous structure that was the church that stood tall and beautiful before them. Rhys felt his stomach drop. This place had been his home for all of his life. This had been safety. This was God’s house and he was always welcome here.

But now…there was a grotesque gnawing in the young man’s gut.

How could he stand here in this mighty home where God rested and call himself ‘Father’.

How could he call himself a man of God after… _that._

Those feelings he’d buried far below the top soil years and years ago. Those urges that fluttered back to him every so often in moments of complete weakness.

 He was disgusting.

He was unworthy.

He was shameful.

Felix’s palm gently rested on the amber haired man’s shoulder and Rhys turned, the simple touch jarring him out of his self pity.

“Father Rhys I think it’s best if you go home for the evening. It has been a long day.” Felix breathed, his tone worn but overall gentle.

Rhys said nothing for a long moment, the words seeming to stick to the thick of his throat, refusing to come forward.

Rhys nodded slowly.

Felix patted Rhys’ shoulder, thumb running over the pristine cloth of his button down shirt.

“Get some rest my son.” Felix said with a short nod before leaving Rhys to stand there in the parking lot.

After only taking several steps, the older man paused for a moment, as if he’d forgotten something.

“Do not let this shake you Father.” Felix said sternly, his gaze settled firmly on the young priest still standing idle on the asphalt.

Rhys stared at the other man, unblinking and fearful.

“I won’t.” Rhys whispered in response.

Even as the words left his tongue and fell upon his own ears, he did not believe himself. The hints of lies were rampant in simple little syllables. They were just lies. Ugly little lies.

And the worst part of it was he didn’t really know who he was trying to convince with his feeble little fibs…Felix…or himself.

“You are a strong child of God Rhys. Remember that. Immerse yourself in prayer. I will see you in the morning son.” Father Felix reassured.

Again the silence settled heavy between them, crawling up from the wet asphalt and making itself at home in the backs of their maws.

“Goodnight Father.” Rhys spoke softly, the gravel crunching beneath his boots as he made his way to his vehicle.

With that he turned his back, too ashamed to stand before the mighty church or Felix’s stern gaze a second longer. He crawled away like the dirty thing he was.

Rhys thudded the back of his head against the front door as he slid down into a sitting position, his hindquarters colliding hard with the wooden floor of the front entryway. He really wasn’t sure what the warm, disgusting feeling in his gut was…a desperate urge to cry or blind anger.

His teeth clenched together viciously as he rested his forehead against his knees.

“Father forgive me. I have strayed. I am lost. Father forgive me for I am weak. I ask for you to lay your palm upon me, free me from these vile thoughts.” He whispered into the stillness of the two bedroom home.

“Ease the sin in my heart Lord, I am your humble servant.” He continued, the words feeling thick and strained as they rolled from his lips.

_God isn’t listening cupcake._

Rhys’ head snapped upward, eyes widening to the size of serving plates as he peered down the length of the hallway before him.

The young man cursed himself and shook his head frantically.

He was hearing things.

He was letting the incident go to his head.

He was letting it eat away at him.

His feet were beneath him before he even realized he was rising. Heavy soles thudded against the hardwood beneath them in a hurried, heavy rhythm. His prosthetic fingers yanked the kitchen cabinet open with a shrill screech and clumsily curled around the first glass that came into reach. He fumbled the delicate little object in his quaking digits and before he could save the poor thing, it was slipping from his grasp and tumbling to the tile floor below. The glass collided with the flooring hard, shattering into tiny pieces that tinkled and chimed as they danced across the ground.

“Son of a bitch!” Rhys snarled as he stepped back away from the mess in despair.

The young man let several more curses fall from his lips as he circled around the kitchen in a blind search for the dust pan and broom. He immediately followed the string of profanities up with a timid apology for his foul language.

Rhys went to his hands and knees, frustrated tears welling in the pits of his eyes as he shakily swept the small broom across the floor, collecting the shimmering shards of glass into the pan. He stopped there, halfway through the motion of dragging the cleaning utensil across the tile.

The demon had known his name.

Rhys shuddered at the recollection of just how maliciously beautiful his own title had sounded rolling off that monster’s tongue. The simple memory of the sound sent crippling chills down into the young man’s very bone marrow.

He closed his eyes tight, fingers clenching on the wooden handle.

It couldn’t be…could it?

That had been so very long ago…

Blurry memories of his sixth birthday swarmed into his head, swimming and churning like a storm angered sea. He had always cataloged that evening as something his tiny, childhood imagination had conjured up. An imaginary friend, a dream, but not reality. That of course could not be reality.

That smooth, deep voice that had brought him such comfort and such curiosity to his breast. Those mesmerizing eyes that were burned into the back of Rhys’ brain with fiery insistence.  

It wasn’t real.

It wasn’t real.

_It wasn’t real._

A long, low breath passed between the lanky man’s thin, perfect lips.

Jack.

The demon had called itself Jack.

That was one component of the hellacious event that Rhys could cling to. At this point he really was unsure of what he’d seen or what had happened. Everything really just ran together in a soupy mess that the man’s feeble, struggling brain couldn’t even begin to pick apart at the time. But he knew for a fact that the Demon had uttered a name, and that name was _Jack._

No matter how the Father tried to deny it, the name was sickeningly familiar.

“Jack.” Rhys whispered to himself, broom and dustpan still taking up the space of his palms.

What a thing to call a name.

What a beautiful, sultry, enticing name.

Rhys ran the syllables through his teeth and over the top of his tongue. It tasted sweet and recognizable like he’d sampled it before. Many years ago, when he’d not known what it was or why it was dangerous to drink in the word like communion wine. The name had only grown better with time. The first time he’d heard it all that had registered were innocent childhood curiosities that blossomed like new flowers, kissing the dawn with open petals. But now as he listened to the name once more, spoken on his own tongue it brought something entirely new to the table.

It brought an old fire that Rhys thought he’d doused long, long ago. It brought the old itch that he thought he’d tamed. It brought everything back.

And so here he sat, on the kitchen floor, and he was drowning in it all…all the raging, nervous feelings that had his heart racing with fear and guilt.

Rhys angrily swept the rest of the shards into the pan and tossed the remnants into the trash bin. He slammed the utensils on the kitchen island and gritted his teeth up into an angry snarl.

“God almighty, king of man and savior of souls have mercy on me. Keep my hands from their relentless shaking. Keep my mind from the sinful thoughts.” Rhys whispered frantically beneath his breath.

Rhys continued to mutter prayers as his body was set in motion. He stormed to his extra bedroom that he had conformed into a study. He searched with purpose as he rummaged through drawers and yanked out folders, scattering them across the floor with little concern.

Loose leaf papers fluttered about like a frightened flock of birds as the young man tore through his archives like a feral creature.

Finally, his hands stalled as he peered into the very bottom of his desk drawer. Brightly colored magazines teased him from their resting place. Rhys’ fingers were clammy as he plucked the well worn paperback books from the drawer and allowed the stack of three to rest on his lap momentarily. The cover of the book on top depicted lewd imagery of two gorgeous boys in bed together, their cocks hard and eager as hands wandered the plains of each others' bodies.

Rhys swallowed the thick lump in his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion and he frowned in disgust. He was not going to let himself fall back into this. He had held onto these for far too long, clinging to their sinful nature in secrecy.

The amber haired man made his way back into the dimly lit kitchen and angrily tossed the dirty magazines into the bin without hesitation. He closed the lid with a loud slam and simply leaned back against the counter, his chest heaving and his eyes glossy.

He’d been weak…that was why the Demon was able to rattle him.

Because of his _weakness._

He could remember the very first time he’d had an attraction to the same sex as if it were yesterday. It had been in seventh grade. Before that year, crushes and liking one another had never been important to Rhys. He’d had plenty of friends both male and female, but he’d never felt… _attraction_ toward them. That had all changed when he’d walked in the doors to his homeroom class that year.

His name had been August, like the month, and he’d been a new student, transferring to Hyperion Middle School from another state. He’d had stunning blue eyes that had punched right through Rhys’ chest as he’d taken a seat at the desk next to the new young man. August had offered him a smile and Rhys had exchanged the display.

They’d become such fast friends Rhys had felt like they’d known each other all their lives.

And then that fateful night had happened. It had been the homecoming game, all the girls wearing the school colors and pretty ribbons in their hair. Rhys had gone to the game with August, both of them wanting to cheer on their home team. They’d left their seats only for a moment to walk to the concession stand and get some popcorn and a drink to share. The backside of the bleachers had been shrouded in darkness, the stadium lights peering through in thin slivers. Their footsteps had been in unison as they’d walked, the two of them being the only occupants beneath the rows of seats.

August had paused, and his hand had reached for Rhys’ in a timid, gentle sort of way that stopped Rhys dead in his tracks.

“Can I kiss you?” August had whispered lowly, his eyes glistening in the dark.

Rhys’ eyes had widened, his pulse racing like a horse right out of the gates. Such a strong feeling of a middle school crush had swarmed over him and he was absolutely helpless. August had a crush on him? He felt like his little heart could have popped right there and then. His hands were clammy and his gut was twisted into several untidy knots, but after a moment of quiet he’d nodded.

August’s hands had intertwined with Rhys’, both of them uncoordinated and nervous. Their lips had met in the awkward sort of way that all first kisses should go. And right there beneath the stands, while wearing his silly polo shirt and khaki cargo shorts his mom has bought him for Christmas, he’d had his very first kiss.

They’d parted and Rhys had blush painted brilliantly over the rounds of his cheeks. August’s smile was shy and giddy and he’d pecked Rhys one more time on the cheek before they’d continued their journey to the concession stand.  

Rhys could remember her name to this very day. Tracey Green.

Rhys had thought the kiss was something shared between he and August alone…but Tracey Green had been witness as well. And so the whisperings around school had begun. The bullying had started, and August had been there to protect Rhys. Word spread and got back to both of the boys' mothers.

Rhys would never forget how his mom had sounded when she’d sat him down in the living room. This was just a faze and he would grow out of it. God frowned upon those who were attracted to the same sex, it was wrong, an abomination and she knew he hadn’t meant it. He was young and silly.

Oh how he was young and so very silly.

August had moved the following year and Rhys was left alone in a sea of harsh words and teasing. He prayed every night until even he began believing that feelings he’d experienced weren’t genuine. He was just curious…and surely God could forgive curiosity.

The harsh words of classmates had faded but the wounds never really closed.

Rhys frowned at the trash bin before him, his body feeling hot with embarrassment and the rushing guilt of those disgusting memories.

He’d been a stupid kid.

He was past that now.

He was a man of God, and men of God did not have such vile feelings toward other men.

His shower welcomed him in with open arms, coaxing him into the steady stream of warm water. He left an abandoned trail of clothing leading to the open bathroom door, his smart button down shirt and pressed jeans now nothing more than a crumpled heap on the carpet. The water steamed around his bare feet as his hands scrubbed. They scrubbed far too hard and far too fast as if determined to wash away the disgust and sin. He would cleanse himself one way or another. He would pray until the feelings faded again. He was just being tested. This was a test of his will and his strength and he would prove he was stronger.

He whispered strings of soft prayers to the shower wall, his vision blurry as the streams of water ran over his brow. His skin stung slightly as he scraped the wash cloth over his arm. The limb was red and raw as he closed his eyes and prayed harder.

With his body cleaned, and his arm a deep, smarting pink he crossed the spans of his bedroom and fetched himself fresh boxers. His body was heavy as he hit the bed, the comforters soft and warm. It was like coming home after a particularly long time away.

His heavy eyes slid shut as he shoved the swirling thoughts from his brain and tried with all his might to get a strong hold on slumber. As he sunk into the mattress it was only then that he seemed to realize just how exhausted he was, both mentally and physically. And so sleep had mercy upon him and took him beneath its down wing. He was carried off into a hard slumber that thrust the dark room into utter, heavy silence.

 

 

 

 

The gleeful chime of the doorbell danced out through the home, perking Rhys ears as he sat in the living room. He drew his feet down from their resting place on the surface of his antique coffee table. The young man’s brows pressed together in confusion as he sauntered toward the door. He hadn’t been expecting any visitors…

Brilliant afternoon light bathed into the entryway as Rhys yawned the door wide, his heterochromatic eyes squinted in the presence of the overbearing sun. He blinked once, twice, three times before his eyes adjusted to the new brightness and he was able to see just what kind of guest had paid him an unannounced visit.

“Afternoon.” The man said in a honey-sweet tone that had the hairs on the back of Rhys’ neck standing on end.

“Could I have just a moment of your time to talk about our Lord and Savior?” The man continued as he tilted his aviator style sunglasses down the bridge of his nose.

Rhys’ eyes traveled the length of the slightly shorter other man, orbs soaking the stranger in from the tips of his glossy black dress shoes to the collar of his neatly ironed suit jacket. Well dressed did not even come close to describing the attire the man was adorned in. Rhys’ throat suddenly felt uncomfortably dry as he cataloged each one of the man’s features one by one.

He looked to be middle aged, his healthy chocolate locks interrupted by a lone grey streak that told tales of the years and stresses he’d seen. His cheekbones were high and strong, his jaw defined and proportionate. Two mismatched irises that mirrored Rhys’ own. Blue and Brown crashing against Green and Azure in a way that rattled Rhys down to his core.

Rhys ran his fingers through his hair and tried his hardest to tear his orbs away from the man now taking up space on his front stoop.

“I’m actually a Priest sir, but I would love to converse with you about our Lord. There is always time to talk about the almighty King.” Rhys smiled genuinely.

The dark haired man shifted his weight, his hands buried deep within the depths of his slack’s pockets. A slow, malicious grin spread wide across his gorgeous features and a low chuckle followed close behind it.

“Isn’t that just the truth huh Father? God is just…so good isn’t he?” The man grinned as he eyed Rhys over the tops of his dark sunglasses.

“Would you like to come in? Visit for a while? It’s hot out and I am sure you could do with some AC and a glass of water.” Rhys offered as he stepped to the side to allow the other man entrance.

The brunette seemed to ponder the offer carefully, the unnerving grin never leaving his lips.

“That sounds real good Father.” He said finally.

The broader man brushed past Rhys and gently plucked his glasses from his face, folding the expensive looking objects into his palm before hanging them off his collar.

Rhys curiously showed the man to his simple living room, the brunette seeming to soak in every aspect of the home with a keen interest that had Rhys questioning his decision to allow the stranger inside.

“Nice place you got here Father.” The brunette said as he eased himself down onto the old mustard colored couch settled in the center of the space.

Rhys shrugged.

“It’s not much but its home all the same.” Rhys replied with a nervous smile.

He wasn’t sure what it was about the other man’s aura that had his insides burning and his hands beginning to sweat. Maybe it was the confident way he seemed to lean back into the furniture as if he’d belonged there all his life. He simply entered the room and took control of it with such ease it had Rhys pooling into a nervous mess.

The man’s wide smile and devious eyes had a heat of molten need collecting in the pit of Rhys’ stomach that he was doing his best to promptly ignore.

Rhys hurried off to the kitchen and quickly filled a cup with tap water, his eyes darting up to the window in front of him. He looked at his distressed expression in the reflection of the glass and let go of a heavy breath. He was being utterly ridiculous.

The amber haired man slowly rounded the corner, cup of water clenched firmly in his shaking hand. He set the water on the end table closest to his guest and the dark haired man’s gaze was instantly settled right back onto Rhys. The slow once over that the older man indulged in did not go unnoticed to the young Priest.

The brunette had casually snatched the Bible that belonged on Rhys’ coffee table and had the black book propped up on his knee delicately. His eyes scanned over the pages with a certain sense of slow intrigue that grabbed at Rhys’ curiosity.

“You know, there are so many good verses here…it really is hard to choose just a few to categorize under my favorites Father.” The handsome brunette said suddenly.

Rhys furrowed his brows, eyes unsure as he soaked in his strange company.

Rhys nodded slowly in response.

“Ah. Here, like this one. This is one of my favorites- _Romans 1:26-27 For this cause God gave them up unto vile affections: for even their women did change the natural use into that which is against nature: And likewise also the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their lust one toward another; men with men working that which is unseemly, and receiving in themselves that recompense of their error which was meet._ ” He said, his voice booming and jovial.

The words pierced right through Rhys’ chest and his breath caught in his throat.

He suddenly felt the color drain right from his cheeks, his eyes wide and hollow.

The brunette chuckled and snapped the thick book closed loud enough to cause Rhys to jump slightly.

“Such a powerful verse don’t you think? God telling us to be good little boys and keep our grimy little hands off other men. And oh, aren’t we just the spitting images of good little boy’s Father?” He continued, his voice dropping low and dangerous.

Rhys said nothing, the words simply refused to come to him as he sat staring wide eyed at his company.

“Something wrong Father?” The man nearly purred as he slowly lifted from his sitting position on the couch.

He was idle for a moment, eyes never leaving the Priest, and then he was in motion once more. He crossed the room with utterly painful grace, strong legs carrying him toward the other man. He was all slow steps and calculated movements as he came closer, too close. Big hands spread out over the arms of the chair Rhys was pressed into. It was only then that the gentle glisten of gems caught Rhys’ eye. The man’s fingers were decorated with rings that looked to cost more than Rhys’ entire home…diamonds, gold and rubies all so daintily encircling big, _thick_ digits.

Rhys tilted his neck back slowly, timidly looking up toward the bigger man that was now precariously hovering over him.

“You look a little pale Father…was it something I said?” The man chuckled deeply.

Panic crawled up the nape of Rhys’ neck like a nest of spiders, causing his skin to tingle and his brow to pick with nervous sweat.

“Do you know why it’s my favorite Father?” The brunette pressed farther.

Rhys shook his head meekly.

He didn’t know why he felt inclined to answer the man, but he couldn’t help it. It was like he was suddenly nothing more than a mere puppet and the gorgeous man had his strings all weaved through those jewelry decorated fingers.

The man leaned down closer, lips mere centimeters from the tender shell of the lanky man’s ear. Rhys tensed as he felt a hot puff of expelled breath run over the side of his neck. His nostrils were invaded with the sharp hints of cinnamon…and something almost like nickel…something like… _blood._

“Because I’m not a good boy Father…and I never listen to it.” The brunette breathed huskily as his thick fingers gently slipped beneath Rhys’ chin, tilting his head back just a tad farther.

Rhys felt his breath escape him, warm sensations traveling through the heat of his veins and causing him to see blurry for a moment.

“You don’t either…do you Father?” He chuckled softly, fingers caressing the flesh along Rhys’ throat. “I can _smell_ the disobedience on you…”

Rhys felt his cheeks darken with heat and his long lashes kissed together several times before his lids opened into lazy slits.

“You’re such a dirty, dirty boy Father…deep down you just want to let the temptation burn…so why don’t we just start a nice little fire right here. Just let me burn you down.” He whispered.

Rhys was only partially aware that he was being urged out of his comfortable seat, and he really couldn’t find it in himself to care as he was slowly bent forward over the chair arm. His forehead pressed into his crossed arms as he was folded over the gaudy antique furniture that looked like it belonged in someone’s great grandmother’s home more than his own. He could only pant against his own skin as those big hands that had so delicately held his pretty little Bible in them only moments before, now undid his leather belt from his waist and very slowly dragged his slacks downward. The clothing pooled at his feet as the other man prodded his legs as far apart as was possible and Rhys did as what was silently asked.

“Oh you are an eager thing Father. Been a while since you’ve been properly _fucked_ hasn’t it?” The brunette snarled into the Father’s ear, lips wet, tongue coming to tease around the tender anatomy.

Rhys merely whimpered at the heated words, the syllables going straight to his painfully erect cock, his little member sliding against the soft material of the furniture as the other man shifted behind him.

Fingers buried in his perfect hair and yanked backward in a sharp motion, arching Rhys’ neck backward painfully.

“I asked you a question cupcake.” The man huffed as he pressed his cheek right against Rhys’, turning slightly to run his tongue up the length of the young man’s jaw.

Rhys shuddered, his eyes rolling backward into the hidden parts of his sockets.

“Y-Yes, i-it’s been _so long.”_ Rhys whispered, his tongue coming to loll obscenely from his lips.

Everything was a blur as those massive palms became more and more familiar. As they pushed Rhys’ shirt up his arched back, as they squeezed at his rear, as they offered his rump punishing slaps that left the skin smarting and red.

The soft jingle of a belt being undone kissed at Rhys’ senses, followed by the quick draw of a zipper. The bigger man unabashedly pressed his strong groin against the younger man’s buttocks, allowing him to feel just how aroused the brunette was. His cock was thick and warm against Rhys’ skin, getting a low, pitiful sound from the back of the amber haired man’s throat.

The man spit into his palm with a disgusting noise and slicked his erection, making sure Rhys could enjoy every one of the slopping sounds of skin against skin.

The larger man was heavy as he forced Rhys down into the furniture, his length stretching the young man apart as he rutted into him without reserve.

“Doesn’t it feel good Father? You were so hungry to take my fat cock weren’t you? I could see it in your eyes as soon as you opened that door pumpkin…”

The words consumed every inch of Rhys’ better judgment, and all he was left with was blind lust. He vaulted backward into the brunette’s heavy humps, a thin line of drool sliding down his lower lip and wetting the chair beneath him. All his senses simply came alive in one vicious moment, like melted gold sliding down his skin, his blood pumping hot and livid. Every shred of shame fell to the wayside as he found his missing voice. Moans that sounded so foreign on his loose tongue.

The man’s mouth pressed hard to Rhys’ cheek.

“Maybe you should stop praying to that God of yours’…and start praying to me Father.” He growled, filthy grin parting his lips.

“I-I don’t even know your name…” Rhys panted out, his legs quivering dangerously as he huffed into the sticky air.

“The name’s Jack, and I can be your God baby.”

 

 

 

 

Rhys sat straight up in bed, his eyelids coming open in wild panic. The young man clicked on the bedside lamp frantically, his eyes darting around the room in freshly awoken confusion.

But there was nothing…nothing but darkness and the remnants of a shameful dream that had his body prickling with sweat. It was only then that he became painfully aware of the wet sensation between his thighs. He grimaced as he threw back the heavy covers to address the large wet stain decorating the front of his boxers. 

Rhys buried his head in his hands and stripped the filthy clothing off with hatred lingering in his eyes. It had been so, so long since he’d had such a sinful, disgusting dream. Everything within him wanted to be disgusted and yet…somehow…he could only feel… _pleasured._ In a way that he’d not been before.

The young man hurried down the length of his hallway, his feet stumbling in the dark. He just needed some water and he needed to calm himself down. It was just a dream, just a ridiculous dream. God would forgive him, he would pray harder.

Rhys’ fingers fumbled for the kitchen light switch and flipped it upward.

The room was brought into stunning light…and what lay before the young man had him stopping dead where he stood.

His mouth became nothing more than a hard line across his face, his eyes widening and his stomach twisting.

The entire kitchen was plastered with torn out images from the magazines he’d known he’d thrown away earlier in the evening. The crudely ripped out pages were taped to every surface, covering the ceilings, the countertops, and the refrigerator. Like a badly executed collage they were spread out before him, the declarations of his sin staring him down.

Rhys took a shaky step backward, his hand clawing at his throat.

He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t act…

And sitting so innocently in the middle of the kitchen island…was an Ouija board.

Rhys’ eyes scanned over the open board, letters scrawled out over the flat surface in beautifully defined handwriting.

“I think you’re old enough to play now Rhys.”

 


	4. Put on Your Sunday Best

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has got to be the most sinful thing my little hands have ever birthed.

Rhys’ eyes were glass objects set in his sockets as he looked out on the full belly of the church. It was a particularly successful turnout for Sunday Mass. Not that their congregation was lacking in attendance, they did after all hold the title of the largest Church in the area. Their flock was loyal and ready to serve their Lord each and every Sunday. They were good, bright eyed followers, dressed to the hilt in their Sunday clothes. All of their dresses with marvelous patterns and matching shoes, suits and jackets all primed and proper…not a hair out of place.

But Rhys knew better than that.

He knew that the man with the thinning hair in the front row was a pitiful alcoholic and that his drinking had ended his marriage and his relationship with his children. He’d cried to Rhys in the confession booth, blubbering away about his children and his wife, all while Rhys could smell the booze still clinging to his breath through the decorative screen.

He knew that the woman three rows back on the left had her children hauled away to foster care the last time she ended up in jail for prostitution and drugs.

He knew the man that always lurked in the very back of the pews, looking shifty and nervous while in God’s house struggled with a desire for young children in the worst of ways.

Rhys knew all the pretty little sins of his flock…they hung above their well dressed heads like neon signs.

Rhys felt a bead of sweat gently run its way down the side of his temple. Beneath his robes he was absolutely burning down. Everything was so hot, far too hot, his body feeling like he was baking beneath the black fabric.

His eyes were bloodshot and dark circles clung to his sockets. Such dreadfully painted purple rings around his big orbs. He looked like he hadn’t slept in months, in years. He looked like a horror and he knew it. Father Felix’s reaction to his appearance alone was enough to alert the Father to just how ghastly he seemed.

Rhys had drug himself to the Church after a long night of ripping the magazine pages from his kitchen walls. He’d gone mad with the determination to rid his home of every last shred of evidence from the disgusting little books. He’d set fire to the papers and the Ouija board in his backyard and in the early hours of the morning he’d watched them burn.

But deep in his guts he knew this wasn’t over.

He’d let _something_ in.

He’d let _someone_ in.

He’d let _him_ in.

Rhys’ throat tightened at the mere thought of him. Those captivating eyes, caramel skin, large palms that had his body melting within them.

The young man clasped his eyes shut and willed his mind to stop its pathetic wanderings.

Father Felix had clasped Rhys’ hand when the young Priest had walked in the front doors and he’d looked to him with such an expression of genuine concern.

“Rhys, my son you look ill, are you feeling alright?” Felix had asked in that soft, gentle tone that he always used when comforting others, whether it was over lost souls or sickness that tone was always the same, the low one with a downturned mouth and flickering eyes to match.

Rhys had nodded feebly.

“I’m fine Father, just very tired I did not sleep well.” Rhys had replied.

He supposed it really was only half a lie. He hadn’t slept well indeed…but he wasn’t going to disclose exactly why to the other Priest…at least not just yet. Something in the back of Rhys’ head seemed to decide against disclosing the events of the previous evening. He needed to keep himself together, he needed to seem well enough to carry out Mass as the assistant Priest just like he always did. He couldn’t let Father Felix see just how much his very first exorcism had rattled him.

Rhys’ breath hitched.

But it hadn’t just rattled him…

It had followed him _home._

Like a stray dog, black as midnight, lurking in the shadows waiting for scraps.

He had to tell Father Felix.

Rhys’ eyes darted to the Priest as he led the welcoming prayer. He would tell him after the service. Felix needed to be informed.

_But does he really need to know?_

A smooth voice whispered into Rhys’ ear sensually.

Rhys whipped his neck around in panic, his eyes scoping over the pulpit wildly. He could feel his heart in his throat as his pupils shrunk, tiny things darting around for the source of the noise without prevail.

He was losing it, it was all in his head, and he needed to focus on the sermon. He was just shaken from the night previous he told himself over and over again, banging the words into his brain in attempt to get himself to believe them.

Rhys started silently into his prayers as he tried to shove out all other thought. He tried to focus on Felix’s voice, on the words of the prayer that he knew like the back of his own hand. Rhys clutched his worn rosary in his fingertips, the familiar beads a sense of comfort as his world seemed to cave in around him.

His mind was a tangled web of memories and racing thoughts. So many voices screamed in his ears, beating at the back of his skull, echoing out through his bones. Nothing was gentle about the pounding behind his eyes, his internal self trying in vain to fight back the wanting, to beat back the starving animal that had been roused in the early hours of the nightfall.

The dream had felt so sickeningly real, every touch, every hot breath, and every spark of absolute ecstasy…it had left his feeble body thirsty for more. He knelt before the teat begging for further nourishment, for fresh pleasure he’d never allowed himself to have.

The Priest shook his head and drew in a stern breath, keeping his demeanor collected as ever on the surface.

He would not let himself bow to such sinful needs.

He was stronger than this.

_You’re hungry kiddo, starving…just let me feed you._

The voice was softer this time, just barely a sound as it kissed along Rhys’ neck in a tempting fashion. Rhys’ fingers tightened on the Rosary. His form was overcome with vicious heat, unbearable, uncomfortable, sticky heat. He wanted nothing more than to be rid of his robes, to be free of the overbearing warmth that was consuming his every nerve. He could feel the moisture at his hairline and the dryness on his tongue.

Rhys shook his head, answering the question that nobody else had heard.

When communion came Rhys was nearly relieved to have something to keep his mind from running away from him. He had to do everything under his control to keep his palms from shivering as he held the communion wine and praised each one of his flock as they came up to drink. He couldn’t focus on any of them as they thanked him and praised their God.

But where was their God last night?

Where was their God when Rhys needed him most?

“Ah. Good question kiddo. Where is that big guy in the sky huh? I mean certainly he wouldn’t let one of his precious little loyal sheep fall so easily into the jaws of a wolf right?”

The voice caused Rhys’ blood to run cold. He nearly dropped the communion cup as his eyes settled on the next church attendant in line.

His smile was cocked to the side, wide and cunning, perfectly displaying all his pearly teeth to the young Priest. Teeth that proved nearly as sharp as the son of a bitch’s damned tongue. Rhys could hardly hear over his thundering heart. He was pretty sure he was going to be sick.

The beautiful man stood in a full dress suit that was the dictionary definition of _Sunday best._ The large scar that scrawled across the man’s face pulled tight as his grin broadened at the sight of Rhys’ obvious unease. He slowly ran the sharp of his tongue of his top row of fangs, observing Rhys in an amused sort of way.

“You look tired Father…things…keeping you up at night cupcake?” Jack cooed in a voice that was nearly a subtle purr.

It was so disgustingly sweet, dripping off his tongue like slow molasses that had Rhys’ skin breaking out in rapid chills.

Rhys looked to Felix, then to the rest of the congregation, all of which seemed to have stopped dead. Felix stood, mouth open, hands outreached in the offering of a communion wafer and the woman receiving it was dead stopped in the attempt to reach for it.

Rhys’ mouth bobbed open and snapped shut, his eyes quivering in their sockets as he looked around for some sort of help, in feeble hope that someone else was seeing what was right before his eyes.

But there was nobody. All of their eyes were glossed over, frozen in some sort of unnatural trance.

Jack snorted wryly and watched as the beautiful young Priest fumbled for his next move. The fear within him was something that had Jack’s eyes darkening with unbridled want. He always loved that look the most, that hopeless expression that was not so far off from an abandoned child. It was the moment that a human realized that their precious, almighty, wonderful King…was not going to save them. Because this earth was the realm of demons. This earth was no place for God.

“How…?” Rhys whispered, the word coming forth without his permission.

Jack chuckled darkly and cracked his neck to the side loudly before following up with all his fingers. His eyes were hungry as they drank Rhys in like a much needed glass of liquid. He took a step closer, forcing his way into the Priest’s personal space without warning. The chocolate haired man gently clicked his long, beastly claws along the smooth goblet of communion wine.

With that the demon plucked the cup from Rhys’ trembling digits and he brought the crimson liquid to his perfect lips. He took a long draw of the dry wine, allowing the drink to bathe over his tongue as he savored the taste. Something about communion wine just made it that much more satisfying. He could detect the foolish prayers and hopes of the stupid little humans on the lip of the old goblet. He could savor in the way they groveled so very blindly before their God.

And yet they could be swayed so very easily.

“Figured I better take communion Father…see, I did some very _sinful_ things last night.” Jack sneered dragging his gaze up the length of the young man’s sinewy form.

A chuckle rumbled up from the breadth of his chest.

Rhys’ expression slowly morphed into something different. There was the lanky kid that had so confidently entered that room the day previous, ready to go to war with demons and monsters all in the name of his precious God.

“You have no place here. This is God’s house.” Rhys whispered, his orbs murky and fat.

Jack made a small noise in the back of his throat and shoved the communion cup not so gently back into Rhys’ unsure palms.

“Ah, is that who’s house this is kid?” Jack harrumphed lowly

“See cause I knocked…” He chuckled taking a sly step forward, his lips grazing the side of Rhys’ susceptible neck.

The Priest swallowed hard, his eyes fluttering shut at the mere ghost of a touch.

“…and nobody was home.” The beast hummed lowly, his tongue extending to run the slope of Rhys’ throat, feeling his pulse rise like a frightened animal.

Rhys’ lids slid closed for a moment, an embarrassing noise crawling its way up from his deepest depths without his permission. It was a quiet sound, just barely audible to his ears. It was such a helpless sound, coming from a soul that could not help itself. It was such a hungry sound, rendered from the breast of a beast that was malnourished.

He was starving for more, waiting in anticipation for what was to come, his body a forest fire flaring out of his capable control.

But it never came. He was left without the reprieve he so much needed. He stood abandoned by the silver tongued thing that had been crowding his space mere moments before. Rhys blinked several times, adjusting to the reality he was thrust back into.

Father Felix continued to pray over the woman as he gave the communion wafer to her awaiting palms. He looked down to the cup in his fingers, the liquid looking untouched and pristine. He shakily handed the goblet to the next church member, his mind spinning, confusion spilling over him like a shower of rain.

He wasn’t even sure what was tangible anymore. He no longer knew where to draw the line that had once been so clearly defined.

His earth and sky irises flicked up to the front church pew, the seat reserved for those that prayed the hardest and the loudest. That was the place for the greatest of sinners who needed forgiveness the most.

The company it kept in that moment upheld that reputation.

There he sat, one strong leg crossed over the other, toying expression painted over his striking face. His eyes never left Rhys.

Like a predator sizing up very slow and very weak prey. Rhys was weak, sickly if he were to go that far.

The young man found himself in the strong hold of the demon’s glare, those around him seeming to be completely unaware of the monster in their midst. He tapped his long claws against the aged wood of the pew, leathery wings folded neatly behind him in an orderly fashion.

Jack drew in an indulgent breath, his eyes coming to observe the shining surface of his polished claws. He loved the way the little sheep squirmed. Frightened, frail, and ever so extravagantly beautiful. The old demon was simply planting seeds in the pretty little beings’ garden. The young Priest was strong in his faith. It was proving quite the feat to drag the young thing away from his precious Bible. But he would rip out all of his tender little pages.

That was a certain knack that he prided himself upon.

He was very good at bringing men of faith down to their knees.

And oh he would do the same to the sweet little priest. He would have him crawling before him on his hands and knees, groveling, begging before him like an obedient dog.

A rumble of a laugh made its way up the old demon’s throat.

The amber haired man did his best to consume himself in the communion, but every other second those wandering eyes of his would find home on his company once more. As if hoping with each and every glance that the demon would simply disappear.

He would not let him off so easy.

Jack clicked his tongue in a scolding fashion and wagged a long finger at the thin man standing so proud and so nervous at the podium.

Jack’s lips twisted up into a purely amused smirk.

He was a creature that was very fond of games, and even fonder of _winning_ such games. If the priest thought this was going to be easy, he was sorely mistaken. Jack was a calculated player, moving his pieces with pure strategy…and oh he was just getting started.

The ancient creature draped his thick arms across the back of the church pew, his body language far too comfortable in a place such as this.

But he was old, and he was experienced.

Younger minions stayed far away from such holy establishments. They shied from the strong pews and the walls built on beliefs and prayers. They would wither and die in such a temple built in the name of the almighty.

Jack’s fingers gently delved into the depths of his right pocket, searching for several moments before finding his mark. The demon pulled forth a pack of old brand cigarettes and tapped the dully colored box against the flat of his palm.

The click of his lighter seemed to be the only sound Rhys’ ears could detect, all the hairs on his body standing on end as he watched the beast light the delicate cigarette perched so daintily between his lips.

He expelled a long sliver of smoke, the scent of the burning tobacco floating to Rhys’ nostrils like an unwanted guest.

Their eyes collided again, watching each other as Rhys lips’ formed around the words of a frantic prayer and Jack’s around the butt of his cigarette.  

The kid was putting up a real good fight Jack had to admit.

The demon stood, bathed in the colorful lights casting through the high stained glass windows lining the walls of the grand structure. He took a long draw on his chosen drug and casually made his way to the aisle, perfectly shined shoes tapping the hard flooring in a gently tragic rhythm. Full wings dragged behind him as he made his slow exit, the innocent church-goers on either side of him never being the wiser to his existence. They couldn’t smell the evil making itself so comfortably at home within their ranks. He’d taken this safe place and crumbled it into an ugly little ball.

The old creature paused as he came to the massive doors, his nearly spent cigarette teetering in his broad digits.

With a graceful motion he flicked the little object into the bath of Holy Water, getting a lovely little sizzle as the cherry was doused in the cool liquid.

And then he was gone.

His laughter still hung off Rhys’ eardrums like a well decorated tree during Christmas time.

And Rhys was left alone, to stand shaken at the altar. The house of God was no longer clean. It had been muddied by the footsteps of something sinister and Rhys could not beat back the sinking feeling in his soul.

Rhys barely remembered the words he spoke to his flock as church came to an end and was dismissed. The handshakes and well wishes he gave came out as distant and half hearted. Every word he spoke felt like he was so very far away, as if his voice had been thrown down a very deep well. He couldn’t keep his throat from clenching, nor could he keep his palms from collecting moisture.

With services concluded his trembling legs were carrying him away. He just needed to hide. He was suffocating.

His suffocating panic only set in deeper as he sprinted down the long hallway to his destination. Around corners, down corridors, following winding steps until he was so far down within the stomach of the old church he was sure nobody but God could find him there. He unlocked the old door in a blind whir of clumsy fingers and panting breaths. He allowed it to slam behind him, pulling the dead bolt with a loud clank. His hand pushed up the light switch, bathing the cobweb laced room in pale ambience. Several bulbs whirred and flickered, clinging to the ends of their useful life stubbornly. The Father clambered through the dim space, the scent of dust and wood rot assaulting his nostrils viciously. He stumbled to the back of the room, not really knowing where his legs were taking him but following the wandering things regardless.

He found himself prying open the door to the ancient confessional booth long stored away in the basements depths when the Church had acquired a far newer model. This old thing had holes in the confessional screen and the wood was shedding its ancient layer of paint in flaky little chips.

The old bench groaned with the Priest’s weight as he slammed the elderly door behind him, locking himself away in the darkness of the small space. His nails scraped against his tender scalp, biting into the skin with a painful aftermath. Tears slid down the lengths of his thin cheekbones, the droplets warm and wet on his robes.

And there he cried.

He cried to a God he wasn’t even sure was listening.

He didn’t want this test anymore.  If this was something God had thrust upon him to make sure he was strong in his faith, he’d failed. He had to admit to his shortcomings. He couldn’t handle this. Why would his Lord subject him to such drastic measures? He was a good man. He tried so hard. He’d said his prayers every night, he’d lead the life he thought God wanted for him. He’d studied to save lost souls from the demons lurking in the dirty parts of this futile little life.

But was it all worth it?

Now he sat in darkness, sobbing for his sanity, falling deeper into the hole of sin that he’d began digging for himself.

Was God not pleased with him?

Had he not read his Bible diligently enough?

There were so many questions on the tip of his tongue and yet…nobody was answering them.

There was only the sound of his own sputtering, hiccupping sobs.

Suddenly there was a light tap on the confessional screen, delicate, as if it were sorry for interrupting the Priest’s moment of falling to pieces.

“Forgive me father for I have sinned.”

The voice was so soft, so tempting…not so far off from _comforting._

Rhys pressed his hands against his sockets, trying to find words to form some sort of prayer to battle off the sensual tone sliding through the cracks of the confessional window…yet his tongue came up with nothing. It was as if the words had simply faded from his recollection.

Rhys lifted his eyes, vision blurred with the fat tears still clinging to his sockets.

All he was met with were the glittering gems of two dilated pupils in the pitch blackness. They sparkled and danced with a certain playful nature that had Rhys’ body blanketing in goosebumps.

Rhys shook his head violently.

The eyes disappeared for a split second, only to appear far more brilliant as their owner leaned in closer to the screen. The whites of teeth joined them, capturing the low light slipping through the crevices of the old booth.

“I’ve had ill thoughts Father. I crave things of _sinful_ nature.”

Rhys sat still as stone, strings of wetness traveling down his face in lethargic trails.

“I’ve had sexual desires for someone outside of marriage Father.”

The demon chuckled, the sounds deep and gravely.

“I’ve been a bad little boy, up at night touching myself, hungry for a cock in my little mouth.”

Rhys let go of a defeated sound that was half a sob and half a cough.

“Please…stop…” Rhys whispered, his tone wavering and weak.

He could hear the seat creak as the demon shifted, lounging backward on the bench.

“But Father won’t you listen to my sins?” The beast taunted.

Rhys said nothing.

The things’ laughter bubbled up louder, conforming into nothing more than an amused cackle.

“Do you want me to suck your cock Father?”

Rhys frantically reached for the confessional door, struggling to pry it open only to find it was sealed shut. He was trapped. Like a feeble animal in a disgusting little cage.

“Uh, uh, uh Father.” The demon scolded, his tone mocking disappointment.

“You know it’s rude Father, to walk out on a man that just wants to confess his deepest sins.” Jack tutted slowly.

Rhys grit his teeth together so hard it caused an ache deep down in his jawbones.

“You are not a man.” Rhys snarled, his eyes wild as they peered through the screen separating him from the monster on the other side.

There was a snort of amusement from the dark places of the booth.

“Don’t be so cold Father.” The beast sneered as he gently used the sharp of his long claw to pick at the crevice between his fangs.

Rhys pulled the familiar little string of bead from the confines of his robe pocket and weaved them tightly through his clammy fingers.

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven…” Rhys whispered frantically, reciting the singular prayer that his panicking mind could conjure forth.

Suddenly Rhys could feel the sensations of digits curling slowly around the breadths of his ankles, smooth claws tracing little trails up his porcelain skin. It wasn’t enough to sting, but just enough to have him squirming in the presence of the action. The smart digits crawled up his knees, the floor giving birth to a form half shrouded in shadow.

Rhys screwed his lids closed, trying to push out the unnerving sight before him.

“G-Give us this day our daily bread…a-and forgive us our trespasses…” Rhys choked out, the words quivering on the thick of his tongue.

He felt crowded, even with his eyelids tightly drawn closed he could feel the presence surrounding him. Those same massive, tempting palms prodded his knees open beneath his clergy robes and it was as if the Priest forgot even the simple task of _breathing._

“As we forgive those who trespass against us…” Rhys forced the words out of his throat.

The air around him was tepid with heat, thick and sticky as it enveloped him and caused his lungs to work harder with every passing second. His back pressed against the wall of the booth, shoulder-blades digging in uncomfortably. His fingers clenched tighter on his rosary, clinging to them like his last hope, the only thing that could possibly save him.

“And lead us not into temptation…” Rhys rasped out, his body arching as talented hands pushed up his robes, exposing his lithe form to a wave of cool air.

The chill licked over his abdomen and kissed against his sinewy legs and he careened into its advances involuntarily. Perspiration pricked at his colorless skin, leaving disgusting trails a long his slender body. Cold claws dragged across his skin and hooked beneath the hem of his simple grey boxers. He could feel them being stolen, and yet he only half cared. His eyes rolled as warm lips found home on the erogenous zone of his deep inner thigh.

That treacherous mouth was soon joined by a long, lithe tongue. It drew out an erratic path along his skin, workings its way to the apex of his thighs.

“And deliver us from evil…” The young Priest breathed, his voice low, nothing more than a fading whisper.

The demon’s warm breath conformed into laughter as it spread over Rhys’ skin.

“Amen.” Jack purred as he nosed against the Father’s painfully hard cock.

Rhys’ hips gravitated upward, begging for more attention, pleading for what he wanted most. A warm mouth was there to offer satisfaction. The demon’s tongue traced the small length of the man melting back into the confessional with a slow precision that had Rhys breaking down into shards. His hardness flexed into the advancement with sudden interest, and Rhys found himself forgetting the rosary so tightly wound in his fist. His prayers faded into the inky blackness around them as pleasure became far more important. His teachings, his faith, all dissipated as he was offered the wet heat of an eager maw.

The beast’s lips closed around his fat head, tongue coming to run the length of his slit, collecting the tear of pre-come that came to greet him with the advancement. Rhys could feel the scrape of a fang against his underside, not painful, just enough to remind him that this bliss was not human. He could feel the monster smile against his cock, tongue witty and curious as it cleaned him from base to tip, traveling in a lithe pattern that caused Rhys’ knees to weaken.

A small hiss escaped through his clenched teeth, the sound winded and strained.

A warm huff of spent breath teased over his dampened flesh, his erection flexing at the teasing. It was just enough to have his skin absolutely _crawling_ with blind desire.

The young man’s hips left the surface of the bench on which he sat, feebly attempting to achieve the reward of the beast’s hot mouth.

The creature sniggered in amusement.

“Ask nicely Father.” He teased, the words dancing around Rhys’ being.

“P-Please…oh God please…” Rhys managed to pant out, his nails scraping down the side of the booth with a shrill sound.

“That’s right pumpkin…” Jack sneered.

“I’m your God now.”

With that, warmth enveloped Rhys’ length, the young man bucking slightly with the sudden pleasure. The monster’s rhythm was smooth and quick, tipping his chin as he took the Priest back into the heat of his throat. He was so willing in the way he suctioned his lips around the other’s breadth. The demon’s claws found their place on Rhys’ thighs, digging in to the point of near discomfort.

But the young man couldn’t be bothered to care.

Even when little beads of blood came forth from the pierced skin.

Nothing in that moment mattered, only the sheer ecstasy that was being so generously offered to him. His free hand found the crown of the creature’s head without really thinking. Long fingers tangled in precariously styled brunette tendrils, his fist pressing against the hard protrusion of the thing’s right horn. It was just as smooth as it had been all those years ago when his little hand had so curiously explored it.

Rhys threw back his head, body vaulting in a graceful arch, mouth wide as explicit yells made their way forth.

Jack fed on the helpless moans that the young man was now singing to him with more valor than he’d ever recited his little nighttime prayers. Drool dripped obscenely from the demon’s chin, his pace never interrupted as he swallowed the Priest down again and again, tongue laving around the warm cock pressing against the back of his throat. The pretty boy was crying curses and prayers to the demon so comfortably nestled between his legs, his eyes rolling and his abdomen tightening.

“That’s right father…” Jack purred, coming off the other man’s dick with a wet sound of suction.

The demon slowly ran his long tongue across his pouty lips, rendered red and just barely swollen with the task at hand.

“I want your cum sliding down my filthy throat…” He snarled as his tongue made one long, slow, stroke up Rhys’ length.

Rhys whimpered pitifully in response.

“Dump your load in me Father.” He continued cheekily.

With that his mouth descended back down Rhys’ member, his enthusiasm going straight to Rhys gut.

The Father’s fingers tightened in the beast’s dark locks, his mouth dropping into a wide, silent oval. His body stilled, hips pivoting upward as his pleasure unraveled like a pit of snakes. After several panting seconds sound found its way to his open mouth. His cries came out with powerful force that rattled through his body like electricity. His cock swelled on the tongue it pressed against before expelling the first warm cumshot into the mouth provided.

The demon hummed as Rhys painted the back of his throat in his thick finish, eagerly swallowing the load with playful eyes that pierced straight through every layer of the priest’s flesh. Rhys mewled and bent toward the source of the pleasure, his orgasm strangling him, exploding through his every nerve like a firecracker having gone off too close to the earth. He could no longer form words, only desperate, feeble, shameful sounds as he allowed the creature to suck him off.

The brunette man let the Father’s softening cock fall from his upturned lips, and shifted slowly, his knees parting as he slid into the Priest’s lap with utter grace. His big palm clenched around the amber haired man’s little chin, shaking it affectionately.

“You taste sweet little rabbit.” Jack hummed, tilting Rhys’ face to the side observantly.

“The holy ones always do.” He whispered as he brought his lips to the Father’s.

Their mouths pressed together firmly, melding against one another’s sternly.

Rhys could taste the salty sharpness of his own finish on his tongue as the demon deepened the display of affection. But he didn’t pull away, he could only participate with bleary eyes, wanting more of the disgusting advancement.

“I’ll be sure to say my Hail Mary’s tonight father.” Jack hissed before pecking Rhys’ lips one last time then dissipating into the darkness, leaving the Priest to wallow in his sweat and shame.

 

 


	5. The Smell of the Earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally getting time to update all these stories, and goodness it feels good to get back to this sin.

Rhys’ knuckles were white as snow as he clutched the wheel viciously. The tires of his vehicle hugged the road tightly with every turn. He wasn’t really sure what he was trying to outrun. The thing he wanted to get away from the most was solidly rooted within his bones. The thing wasn’t going anywhere. 

His frantic eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, checking the vacant backseat for what seemed like the hundredth time in his twenty minutes of driving. 

He could feel sweat forming at the nape of his neck, causing his collar to become nearly unbearably hot. The clerical collar around his throat was suddenly far too tight. It was strangling the very breath right out of him. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think. Everything was a blur of panic as he pushed the vehicle faster. The speed limit was a far off thought as he well exceeded it. 

His fingers grappled at the white collar restricting his adams apple. 

The simple material was white hot against his skin. 

He didn’t deserve such a title. He didn’t deserve this attire. 

He wasn’t Godly. Not even close. 

And then his wild panic was interrupted by something else. It came on quick and heavy, and for a moment he really couldn’t put the emotion into a category. But after a few silent seconds, he knew what it was. 

Anger. 

He was so  _ angry.  _

The young man slammed his hand against the steering wheel several times, just enough to cause an ache to reverberate up through his wrist and remind him that he was falling to pieces. He gnashed his teeth together until it hurt, his eyes welling with tears sparked by that same confusing anger bubbling up from the depths of him. 

Where was his God? 

How could he leave him all alone like this? 

All alone against such an opponent as this? 

Laughter buzzed in his left ear softly, the muffled sound eventually traveling to the right before dissipating. Just a subtle reminder that he was still there, nestled in the young priest’s mind, quiet but not forgotten. It was still there, right behind his eyes. Waiting, watching, licking its’ teeth.  

God had abandoned him. 

He was all alone now. 

All alone with  _ him.  _

The trees zipped by the moving car one after the other. The other vehicles on the road couldn’t seem to move fast enough. Every sign, every overpass, every stoplight…they were all blurs as Rhys went through the motions. 

God wasn’t here to help. 

The only person that could possibly salvage what was left of his struggling soul was Father Felix. 

He had to tell him, he had to beg him for help. 

He couldn’t do this alone, and up until now he thought he’d had the most powerful player on his side. He thought he’d been safe. He was a child of God and God would always be there for him. But God wasn’t there. Maybe God had deemed him unworthy. Maybe his soul was too rotten for even the King himself to save. He had failed. 

Everything he’d ever worked for in his life all suddenly felt overwhelmingly pointless. Everything was a lie. There was no help for such sinners. He was a sinner and he was being left to  _ decay. _

Where had he gone so wrong to deserve this? 

Had he displeased God so much that he would allow this to happen to him? 

Rhys fruitlessly wiped at his eyes, trying to force the tears away. 

He was so goddamned  _ weak.  _

“WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!?” Rhys cried suddenly, nails digging into the leather wheel mercilessly. 

“I FOLLOWED EVERY RULE. I DID EVERYTHING YOU ASKED. I SERVED YOU WITHOUT HESITATION!!” 

“WHY WOULD YOU LEAVE ME LIKE THIS?? WHY WOULD YOU PUNISH ME LIKE THIS??” He yelled into the empty car cab, his voice bounding off the glass windows. 

His chest stuttered and heaved with the racking sobs. 

And there was no answer, not even a coy remark from the dark thing that he knew was watching. Rhys snarled his lip up. He bet that disgusting thing was getting a good laugh out of all of this. He bet that thing enjoyed watching him fall to pieces. The creature had a front row seat of his fall from grace and he didn’t doubt it was hanging on the edge of it, hungrily devouring every second. 

“See but Rhysie baby that’s where you’re wrong pumpkin.” 

The voice startled Rhys so badly the young man yanked the wheel to the right suddenly, the vehicle whipping from one side to the other, traveling across the two lane road until its tires met with the loose caliche on the side of the asphalt. Rhys slammed on the brakes, the car jerking and rumbling to a sliding stop in the dirt, just a few inches shy of a large oak tree. 

Rhys huffed into the silence, eyes wide and fearful. He didn’t let go of the wheel, not yet, as if letting go might separate him from safety. White dust settled around the exterior of the vehicle lazily, clouding his vision to the outside world. 

Rhys closed his eyes, just for a moment. 

When he opened them, his passenger seat was no longer vacant. 

The occupant of the space slowly stretched backward, letting go of a satisfied sound as he did so. Rhys just stared at the thing with shaking eyes. 

Jack huffed lowly and pushed his sunglasses down the bridge of his slender nose, giving the young priest a less than amused glare. 

“You trying to get yourself killed pumpkin?” He asked smoothly, his voice like honey and molasses. 

Rhys did not answer. 

Jack chuckled and even then the sound was pleasant to Rhys’ ears and it shouldn’t have been and it made him so vividly angry. 

“You see, your God might have abandoned you cupcake, but I won’t. I’m here to give you what you  _ want.”  _ Jack purred as he adjusted his tie slightly.

Rhys felt all the hairs on the tops of his forearms stand on end. 

“You don’t know what I want.” Rhys spat as he sat stock still, back straight against the driver’s seat. 

With that Jack casually plucked his dark glasses from his face, glittering eyes doing one, slow, full sweep over the length of the young priest. He shifted, claws scraping sharply across the dashboard before him as he leaned toward the other man, giving little thought to boundaries. There weren’t boundaries here anymore anyway. He’d shred every last one and left it to die by the side of the road in which they’d just ventured down. 

A single, long, sharp claw curled dangerously beneath the flesh of Rhys’ tender chin, the point hazardously close to the pulse of his throat. Jack’s lip curled upward nice and slow, as if he were observing something more along the lines of a full meal and not so much a human. 

“You’re so naïve sweetheart.” Jack cooed as he tilted the auburn haired man’s neck backwards, wisps of Rhys’ tender locks falling against the seat. 

With all the courage he possibly had left Rhys jerked his head away from the demon’s claw. 

Jack harrumphed deep in the back of his throat and swept his lengthy tongue across the fronts of his dagger-like fangs. Rhys swallowed thickly. He could swear the thing’s teeth had doubled in size since he’d last had a nice long look at those ominous pearly whites. 

“You really think, even for the briefest  _ second  _ that I don’t know what your deepest,  _ darkest,  _ desires are Rhysie?” Jack chuckled low and dark. 

Rhys’ lip tightened. 

Jack’s grin twisted upward in prideful victory. 

“That’s what I thought cupcake.” Jack hissed, the length of his tongue coming to dance lithely around the shell of Rhys’ ear. 

Rhys cringed. 

He could feel the wetness of the tongue on his lobe, the scrape of claws creeping up the length of his slender thigh, the shift of a heavy body as it came out of its’ seat and invaded his. 

“Leave.” 

Rhys managed to collect his trembling voice. 

Jack stopped, his glowering eyes looking to Rhys with silent disappointment. 

“You really are going to make this difficult aren’t you Father?” Jack sneered. 

Rhys clenched his jaw. 

Jack’s claw suddenly put more pressure against the leg of Rhys’ pants, the sharp tip easily tearing through the thin material and coming in contact with the meat of his leg. Rhys winced in discomfort as the demon continued to drag his finger along the cloth, cutting just barely into the flesh, blood pooling dark beneath the clothing. Rhys cringed and arched in his seat, unsure if the sensations coursing through him were those of pleasure or pain. The way the sharp appendage felt as it sliced so easily into his skin sent cold chills through him. The sight of his own blood so vividly seeping through his pants had his breathing becoming shallow and his head fogging. 

What in hell’s name was he becoming? 

“I said  _ leave. _ ” Rhys repeated and even he wasn’t sure if he really meant it. 

He wanted to mean it, but his body was flushed with sudden uncomfortable heat and his throat was a barren wasteland as he swallowed over and over again. 

“But do you  _ really  _ mean that?” Jack hummed wickedly. 

Rhys forced a broken “ _ Yes!”  _ out of his teeth. 

Jack pulled back slightly, clearly annoyed with the young man he had nearly wrapped around the tips of his fingers. He was almost there, just a little more and the pretty young thing would be his,  _ all his.  _ But he was clinging to this last little shred of courage like a silk ribbon and Jack was growing tired of it very fast. 

He pressed his mouth to Rhys’ chin, dragging sloppy, hot kisses up the length of his jaw until he had Rhys’ eyes fluttering backward into his skull. 

“If you go to Father Felix, I’ll kill him sweetheart.” Jack whispered sensually. 

Rhys let go of an unsteady, ragged breath. 

His brow knitted together in foolish determination. 

“You can’t kill him.” Rhys argued as Jack’s body arched against his own.

The other man was big as he crowded Rhys against the door, it was both intimidating and exciting all in the same breath. 

“Oh can’t I?” Jack sniggered. 

“Just give it up would you pumpkin? Just let  _ go _ . Enjoy this…you know you want to.” Jack huffed languidly. 

“No.” Rhys snapped. 

Jack pulled backward just slightly, his mouth downturned into a displeased expression. 

“Fine. You are only going to make this  _ far  _ more fun for me.” He snarled deeply. 

With that the claw that had drawn a pretty red line down Rhys’ leg jabbed into the muscle deep and insistent. Rhys cried out in pain, the initial shock reverberating through him like fire. His body and mind were set into motion. He was in danger, he had to run, he had to act. 

He had to get to Felix. 

His fingers curled tight around the shifter and yanked it into drive, his foot pressing forward against the gas pedal despite the searing pain. 

“Alright kiddo, by all means, have it your way.” Jack chuckled. 

Rhys’ eyes flicked to the road as the vehicle bumped and rocked, the tires settling on the smooth street once more. 

By the time he looked to the passenger’s seat again…the thing was gone. 

Rhys hissed at his injury, blood seeping down into the cloth of his seat. It didn’t matter, he was going to end this. Felix was going to end this. 

The tires screeched to a halt out front the older home just on the edge of town, nearly nestled in the vast forests threatening to swallow the city whole. Ominous clouds gathered over the tips of the old trees, a deep rumbling splitting across the grey skies. Rhys swung his door open, his body tumbling in a crumpled heap from the vehicle, the searing hurt shooting through him like fire. He clutched his bleeding leg and forced himself upright, ignoring the sensation of blood running down the length of his limb. 

Red trickled the concrete beneath him as he limped toward the front door. He slumped against the elderly wood, hand scrambling to get a good hold on the silver knob. He pounded his fist on the solid thing, screaming the Father’s name as thunder groaned in the background.

The moments ticked by at a painfully slow pace. Rhys was beginning to think…maybe Jack was already here…maybe the demon had done good on his word…

But then the door opened, and a very concerned Father Felix filled the frame.

“Rhys!? My child what happened?” Felix barked as he helped the young man to his feet.

Rhys stumbled inside and shut the door behind him, locking out the growing storms and evil things lurking there.

“Father, I don’t have a lot of time to explain. When we did the exorcism, someone… _ something _ followed me. A demon Father, please, please Father I need your help. God has turned his back on me, he’s left me to suffer!” Rhys babbled as he sunk down to the floor uselessly.

Father Felix hauled the man to his feet once more and helped him to the living room. Rhys dropped down onto the couch his leg wet and sticky with shed blood.

Felix’s eye was hard as he looked the other man over.

“We have to get this bandaged.” He whispered as he crossed the room into the kitchen.

The Father returned with gauze and tape to wrap the oozing wound. Rhys cringed as the older man dressed the laceration carefully.

Felix’s palms curled on Rhys’ shoulders then, his lone eye stern as he captured the young Priest’s gaze.

“Do you know it’s name Rhys? Did you learn it’s name??” Felix snapped loudly, the fear apparent in his tenor.

“It calls itself Jack…” Rhys croaked.

Felix shook his head.

“That’s not the beast’s proper name, it’s not old enough…not strong enough to be a real name…” Felix hissed.

The house groaned as the winds outside picked up in strength and began to beat wildly against the walls. The windows trembled in their frames and the wind-chimes on the front porch clattered together roughly in a high pitched, uneven rhythm. Rhys’ pupils darted around the room, his breathing shallow and his heart threatening to race right out of his chest.

Thunder clapped, causing both men to startle.

Then…there was the unmistakable sound of vicious claws running down the wood of the back door, screeching as they were drug across the grain.

“Felix, Felix please help me.” Rhys pleaded pitifully, his eyes wide and watery as he looked to his last hope.

Felix grabbed his Bible from the resting place on the mantel and the bottle of Holy Water above the fireplace. He looked like an old battle worn man ready to go to war again. His eye was steely and his mouth was taught. And he welcomed the battle.

“YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE DEMON!! IN THE NAME OF GOD I BANISH YOU! AWAY WITH YOU FOUL CREATURE OF HELL!!” Felix shouted toward the back door.

A low, rumbling growl traveled through the boards, the sound guttural and animalistic.

A hard thud shook the door, the weight of a shoulder being thrust against it, testing its structural integrity forcefully. Another thrust caused the door to quaver in place, the weight of a heavy thing clearly too much for it. It would give at any second.

As the thunder rose, so did a deafening roar, throaty and powerful as it crashed into Rhys’ ears.

“BE GONE DEMON!! BE GONE!!” Felix announced, his voice shaking as he prayed and made the sign of the cross over his body.

Like a shield he took that with him into battle.

There was the bone chilling crack of wood as the door finally gave way, too weak to withstand another blow from the beast on the other side. What filled the empty space was nothing like the demon that Rhys had encountered. This was something different, this was something far more frightening.

But it was all too familiar to Felix.

He felt all the air leave his lungs as the creature stepped over the broken threshold, big, awful paws spreading out over the wooden floor. Its claws scraped the ground beneath it with each slow, calculated step. Its hulking back shifted and swayed, shoulder blades working with its every motion. Big, leather-like wings draped behind the thing like sheets, flexing and refolding behind it. It walked almost on all fours, hunching in a way that was absolutely ungodly.

Felix took a step backward, his fingers clutching the old Bible frantically.

That was all he had to depend on now.

Suddenly he was right back in that same room from so many years ago. He was staring down the very beast that taken her life. And he couldn’t save her. He couldn’t stop it. It was a monster unlike anything he’d ever encountered, a monster that still crept into the midst of his nightmares in the very dead of night. Those glowering green and blue orbs set deep in the creature’s skull haunted him every time his lids slid shut. Those eyes followed him in the dark parts of his home. They watched his turned back. Waiting, waiting, waiting…for the very moment at hand.

And here it was, bigger, stronger, and  _ hungrier. _

The only Priest to ever successfully fend him off in all his eternity alive, and Jack was not about to forget such a thing.

Felix was old now.

He was  _ weak. _

That love for God had faded when Jack had consumed the soul of that poor girl. It had punched a hole right in the old man’s heart. He’d never forgiven God, and Jack had never forgiven the Father.

The beasts wicked jaws gaped open, saliva hanging down from its jowls in lazy ropes.

The only sound to be heard was the strength of the storm outside and the beast’s unsteady breathing. It was heavy and shallow.

And then there was deep, raspy laughter. It bubbled up from the depth of the thing and trickled out through its massive teeth.

“Hello Father Felix…it has been a very long time…” The creature snarled in a deep, monstrous tone.

“This time…I’m not leaving without your other eye…” It continued.

Father Felix consumed himself in prayer, flipping the pages of his Bible, a solemn look etched over his wrinkled face.

Then he turned to Rhys.

“I am so sorry my son.” He whispered.

And then the beast leapt, its muscles exploding in raw power as it thrust itself forward. Massive paws beat the ground as it came for the Father, jaws agape and ready. Its weight took the elderly man to the floor, jaws snapping shut on his throat with the sickening sound of breaking bones. It ripped its head to the side, slinging blood across the once pristine living room, over the open Bible that now lay on the floor. White pages were strewn with red, the beast huffing against its kill, nostrils flared and eyes wild.

The Father tasted sharp and sweet, the believers always did.

His blood was thicker and so much more satisfying.

With a quick motion he tore the Father’s remaining eye from his socket and snapped the organ between his teeth.

An eye for an eye.

Jack’s lips pulled back into a gnarled, toothy grin.

And they all thought their God was going to save them.

Silly little humans.

Jack’s rolling eyes scanned the room, only to find it void of other life.

He chuckled.

The kid had fight he would give him that at least.

With blood stained down the fur at his front he threw his head back in a bone shaking roar.

Rhys forced his searing leg to move as he clumsily made his way out into the forest. His foot caught the edge of a root and for the countless time he was sent down into the dirt. He pushed himself upward, forcing himself forward on fear alone. His lanky arms were decorated with cuts and scrapes from the bushes and vines that grabbed at him mercilessly. All he could see were the jagged, swollen trunks of old oaks. Their wicked limbs climbed skyward and hovered over him like ghastly claws, scratching at the thunderstorm above.

His breathing came short and unfulfilling not enough oxygen actually making it to his struggling lungs.

He stopped suddenly as an echoing, beastly cry shattered across the sky.

He was coming for him.

Felix was dead.

He was probably next.

Rhys stumbled into the nearest clearing, the trees opening up and allowing him room.

What was the point of running anyway? The beast would come. There was no running. If the beast wanted him, the beast would have him.

The young man sunk down to his knees in the mud, the rain beginning to fall in sheets through the heavy branches. Water dripped from his wet hair, little rivers running down over his brow and trickling to his neck.

He was alone.

God wasn’t here.

He wasn’t here for Felix and he wasn’t here for him.

His heart thundered as he scanned the trees, every old thing suddenly seeming to be watching him intently as he fell to pieces. His instinct and habits told him now was the time to pray…but his bruised heart only asked  _ why? _

Why should he pray to a God that had allowed him to suffer like this? Why should he waste his breath?

There was no savior.

There was no salvation.

Rhys’ fingers tore at his clerical collar and ripped it from his shirt. He threw the oppressive material down into the sopping earth in rage.

He’d been promised protection, he’d been promised paradise…and here he was, in the rain, in the mud.

The sound of wings beating against the air was gentle as it cut through the drizzling rain. Rhys could see the dark outline of the beast as it descended. Big, open wings allowed it to touch the earth with a certain grace that was almost painful to watch. It came from the dark, a hulking thing with silky long fur down its front and short sleek hair down its back. It has paws the size of plates, and hooves sharp and black. Its canine features gave way to massive twisting horns that sat like a mighty crown upon its head. Its hooves sloshed through the wet earth, water dripping from its cowl.

Rhys could smell the heat of its breath as it neared, thick and heady as it poured over him.

The young man closed his eyes as the beast hovered far taller than him even in its hunched, unnatural position.

He didn’t want to run anymore.

He hurt inside and out and he was tired.

He was  _ so tired. _

So he closed his eyes and waited, waited for the sharp snap of jaws, for the warm sensation of blood filling his throat.

But it never came.

The young man slowly opened his eyes, daring to wipe the rain from them.

The beast was gone.

The demon that Rhys had become so familiar with was all that remained.

The thing cocked its head to the side curiously, horns sleek and shimmering with the moisture. Large wings unfolded to shield both himself and the Priest from the wet drizzle.

Rhys felt himself deflate.

He didn’t care anymore.

“You aren’t going to kill me?” Rhys whispered softly.

The sound of rain was the only conversation between them for several long moments.

“No. Not if you give me what I want.” Jack purred.

Rhys sucked in a heavy breath.

“What do you want?” Rhys questioned quietly.

Jack leaned in close, his mouth stained with bright crimson, his teeth painted with the color of stolen life.

“Your soul.” Jack whispered, his lips mere centimeters from the other man’s.

Rhys could feel the exhilarating heat coursing from the demon’s skin. It was so raw, so new, and god he’d never wanted anything more in his life. He wanted to belong to him, he wanted to crumble in the wake of him. He wanted the demon’s influences, he wanted the hot press of its’ body against his. He wanted it all.

Rhys palms cautiously reached up to tangle in the demon’s wet brunette locks, fingertips touching the smooth horns placed there.

“Take it.” Rhys huffed breathlessly.

Jack’s lip upturned in a wicked smile.

“That’s it pumpkin. Give into me.”

Jack’s mouth melded over Rhys’ the metallic taste of blood invading Rhys’ senses vigorously.

Rhys’ eyes rolled back into his head.

He’d never tasted anything so sweet.

Jack grinned against the kiss.

“You’re mine now kiddo.”

Jack’s teeth found the thrum of Rhys’ neck, canines piercing flesh just deep enough to gather a sample of the young man’s blood. Rhys moaned into the action, the pain ebbing and giving way to something viciously pleasurable. He’d never felt anything quite like it. The sensation curled up from his stomach and rang through his skeletal structure. His heart pounded, his breathing was ragged, his fingers grabbed at the big body trapping him to the forest floor.

Jack smiled against the wounded flesh, tongue lapping up the sweet liquid as it ran down the young man’s neck. He tasted like gold, innocent and pure and thick.

But all of that was changing as the man gave into him.

He was letting go, his body bowing into the demon like a needy whore, wanting more, always wanting more.

Rhys’ neck arched back in a gorgeous vault, fingers gripping the firm hold of Jack’s shoulders.

The rain came down and the ground smelled so earthy and fresh as it invaded Rhys’ nostrils. He could feel  _ everything  _ so vividly. He could feel the storm in his veins, he could feel the old trees, and he could feel the power radiating from the beast he’d allowed in.

Jack’s claws came eagerly to the man’s clothing, dirty and wet with mud. He didn’t need these anymore. The last remnant of his priesthood, so tattered and frail.

The demon cut a precise line down the front of his shirt, slicing the material open, exposing the pale, porcelain flesh beneath. Jack’s eyes were vibrant and hungry as he looked over the exposed skin. His slow, talented fingers dragged the clothing from the auburn haired man’s shoulders, the kid so languid and obedient that he simply allowed it to happen without so much as the blink of an eye.

Jack’s paws were at his belt then, working the buckles apart in a slow manner that was both tantalizing and painful to observe. Each movement of his fingers was so beautiful. Rhys was overwhelmed by the reality of it all. How the demon’s touch had him coming alive in ways he’d never thought possible.

There was no more hiding, no more punishing himself for his desires.

Now they were all so gorgeously displayed before him on a shimmering silver platter. The demon gave them all to him so willingly. He wanted the pleasure, he wanted the taste of the beast on his lips, he wanted to feel the fullness of its’ cock within his little body.

A whine crept its way out from between his teeth and the creature was there to swallow it.

Jack’s mouth forced against his, hard and mean as he yawned the front of Rhys’ pants open.

Rhys arched his hips skyward as the demon dragged his clothing away, leaving him exposed to the elements. The rain should have been cold, he should have been shivering against the storm, so naked and so vulnerable…and yet he wasn’t. Everything was so overwhelmingly hot, his blood thundering and his cheeks flushing with lewd heat.

The creatures’ massive wings flexed, shucking water down around them, the moisture rolling off the leathery appendages.

The young man wrapped his slender legs around the things’ big hips and it was so wrong and so right and he couldn’t find it in himself to think of anything else. He bucked against the heavy body now so tightly pressed against him. His cock stood in interest, full and fat with blood from the excitement of it all.

For the first time it didn’t feel wrong.

It felt like being presented a gift that had been just out of reach for so very long.

Rhys huffed into the fresh air as the demons nails raked down the length of his slender body. Over his chest, addressing each rib as he stretched lithely, down his fluttering stomach, until the tip of its’ claw gently dragged over the very tip of his cock.

Rhys mewled and shifted, hips rising to the demon, asking with his body instead of his words.

The demon trailed hot, needy kisses up the length of his exposed throat, the young man turning his head, offering more skin so willingly.

He could feel the heat of the creatures’ erection sliding against his own.

It was so big, heavy and thick.

He needed it inside him.

He needed to  _ feel  _ it.

“ _ Please…” _ He managed to pant pitifully.

Jack’s teeth unsheathed from behind taut lips.

“Only because you asked nicely.” Jack purred against his partner’s mouth.

Rhys inhaled a sharp breath as the demon pressed its’ fat head against his entrance. He didn’t know how the things’ cock was already slick as it slid in and stretched his body pleasantly. He didn’t know how it was all happening so quickly, he didn’t know why he suddenly felt like fireworks had exploded in his chest cavity. He was lost in the warm spirals of something he could only describe with the word  _ ecstasy. _

The creatures’ big hands found a not so gentle hold on his slender hips, dragging the young man toward its body insistently. Rhys toes curled as the thing fucked into him, each thrust harder than the last, such power behind each roll of heavy hips. It could break him if it wanted. It could tear him to shreds with ease. It could eat him alive. Really he wouldn’t have complained if it had done so. He couldn’t find it in himself to care. The pleasure was too great, the indescribable electricity digging down deep into his muscles.

He threw his head back, mouth agape as loud sounds of desire came forth powerfully. The demon’s name came hot off of his tongue, and somehow it was not the human title the creature had given him. It was something old and long. Something that tasted heavy on his tongue as it rolled off. He didn’t know how he’d suddenly gained knowledge of it, but he cried it to the woods, he cried it to the rain.

It was the only prayer he needed now.

Rhys was barely aware of the tingling sensation sparking from his forehead. Red slowly oozed down his temples as the sharp appendages split his skin, hard, curved horns growing and curling back over his head. It wasn’t painful, only exhilarating as he was given a crown of his own.

The demon was whispering praises in a language that was foreign to him, but each word only made his shaft grow harder.

Rhys was barely aware as his nails grew sharp and pointed, claws decorating every end of his fingertips.

The creatures’ pace was merciless.

He felt so full, so pleased.

Deafening moans came forth from the young man’s lungs as his body uncurled in a powerful orgasm. He jerked and writhed as he hit his much needed peak, come painting up his heaving chest shamelessly.

The demon’s hips stuttered forward before stilling then, cock swelling and finally expelling deep within the young man’s body. It groaned and cursed as it rode out the extent of its own finish, simply enjoying the feeling of being inside his new prize. Enjoying the feeling of  _ soiling  _ such a righteous soul.

Rhys’ eyes came open slowly, the things glowering like old jewels set in his head.

Jack leaned down to run his tongue along the curve of the slighter man’s new horn, humming in appreciation for the beautiful thing he’d created.

Rhys was too star struck to really assess all that was happening, he simply lay boneless beneath the other man.

“There now, aren’t you a pretty little thing.” Jack hissed cupping Rhys’ slender cheek.

 


	6. You Made a Monster out of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well thank you all for embarking on this little sinful ride! It's been fun!! ;)

**Three Years Later:**

The young man sat in the booth seat casually. He leaned against the old cushioning and tilted his head back just slightly. He brought his slim fingers to the purse of his lips and took a long, deep draw of his cigarette. They were some off brand not sold around parts such as these. They were far too luxurious to have been purchased from such a little shit hole town.

He expelled a heavy breath, wispy smoke curling around his slender face like an old friend.

He ran the point of his tongue across his teeth, feeling the elongated canines fondly as he flicked the ashes of his cigarette into the tray on the table before him. It was a cheap wood, some kind of ugly yellow laminate laid over the top of it that was discolored and peeling away with age.

Rhys’ eyes scanned over the ugly diner that he resided in for the moment. It was small and nearly empty, save for the elderly man that had been perched at the bar sipping his coffee and reading an outdated magazine for the better part of an hour or so and a couple tucked away in a booth sitting in the far left corner of the place.

They were just passing through on their way to the next town over.

That was all this was anyway, a road stop between finer cities. A shit-stain on the highway and nothing more.

Rhys sneered.

The place was disgusting.

What was even more disgusting was the blatant sound of chewing now kissing his ears. It sounded like some kind of animal wolfing down its’ meal.

His gaze flicked back to the seat across from him, to where the source of the sound was coming from.

Rhys curled his lip up as he observed the man across from him with utter distaste.

Jack was preoccupied with shoving handfuls of fries into his gullet, only pausing to take a quick sip of his fountain drink or rip off a massive bite of his burger. The brunette paused only when he caught a quick glance of Rhys’ disgusted face.

“What pumpkin?” Jack muttered through a full mouth.

Rhys rolled his eyes and covered his mouth to stifle a gagging reflex.

“Do you have to eat like a boar? And are you sure you should be eating that _at all?_ The food here looks questionable at best.” Rhys complained through his teeth.

Jack chewed slowly, his face un-amused as he stared at Rhys.

“Oh c’mon Rhysie don’t be so uptight. It’s good, here have a bite.” Jack urged as he offered the burger to Rhys.

Rhys reared back in offense and disgust.

“Don’t get that thing anywhere near my mouth.” Rhys spat in annoyance.

“Ohhhh c’mon sweetcheeks I can guarantee it’s not the worst thing that you’ve put in that cute little mouth of yours’.” Jack taunted as he took another behemoth bite.

If looks could have killed Jack would have dropped dead on the spot.

“Why are we here anyway?” Rhys muttered as he perched his cigarette between his lips.

“Got a score to settle. Been after this soul for a long time now.” Jack said bluntly.

Rhys sighed.

“And you are gunna help me get him pumpkin.” Jack continued as he munched on a few fries.

Rhys’ brow furrowed and his shoulders bristled.

“Of course I am.” Rhys snarled.

Jack huffed.

The kid was pretty as all hell but fuck was he a little princess. It was a funny thing to even think that he’d once been so painfully innocent and obedient. He’d been such a bright eyed little priest, so willing to serve his God in any way he was asked. Now he lived only to serve himself, and Jack of course. How things had changed, Jack thought with a twitch of his lip.

The young thing was pushy and opinionated and so sweetly ornery that it made Jack’s teeth hurt. He was his most precious little prize and the battle for him had been well worth it. Jack’s lips broke into a full on smirk. Nothing in this life or the next appreciated cock the way that lithe young thing did. He could ride Jack for hours and never be a smidge less hungry. The thing had an appetite like a pack of wolves. His talents were wasted serving his God.

Now Jack was putting him to use for better things.

“Don’t be such a little shit, baby.” Jack cooed lovingly.

Rhys flicked his cigarette and gave his counterpart a deadpan expression.

“So what am I going to have to do huh?” Rhys hissed.

Jack grinned.

“Oh just what you do best baby, some… _seduction.”_ Jack purred as he stirred his drink with his straw.

Rhys’ mouth twitched upward, but just barely, if Jack hadn’t been looking for it he would have missed it completely.

“I would have never guessed.” Rhys sighed heavily.

Jack sniggered.

“Oh but baby you’re sooo good at it. That thin little body, that pert little ass, those pouty lips just made for suckin’ cock. Mmm you are just the perfect package kiddo.” Jack praised as he flashed his fangs at the other man.

Rhys tilted his head to the side, clearly amused with the compliments.

“What else?” Rhys said with a small, egotistical smile.

Jack’s smile widened.

“Got an ego the size of eternity on ya don’t you kid?” Jack teased.

Rhys shifted in his seat nonchalantly.

“Those hips are just the perfect places to grab onto while I’m fuckin’ that tight little ass, those pretty ‘fuck me’ eyes you’re so good at given…no man can resist that pumpkin.” Jack continued hotly.

“In fact, if I wasn’t do dead set on getting that soul of mine tonight…I’d already be buried balls deep in you.” Jack grunted.

Rhys buried his bottom lip between perfect teeth and rested his chin in his palm.

“Why don’t you then? It’d be much more fun than hanging around this dump.” Rhys whispered.

Jack clicked his tongue at the young man.

“I’m so tight and ready…” Rhys said slyly.

“Ah, ah, ah. Nice try baby. I’ve been on this mark for a while now, don’t wanna lose him again.” Jack replied.

Rhys flopped back against his seat with a defeated sigh.

“What’s so important about this one anyway?” Rhys grumbled in agitation.

“He’s slippery. Real big deal who likes lurking around little hole in the wall motels in his spare time. Catches young little drifters like flies. Promises them money if they keep him company for the night, strangles them and dumps them. Real nasty fella.” Jack chuckled.

Rhys raised his eyebrow.

“I thought you only liked going after righteous men.” Rhys sighed.

“Oh Rhysie, Rhysie, Rhysie, rotten souls are just as fun to take. And they scream louder.” Jack sneered picking his teeth with his claw.

“I just need you, to lure him in.” Jack said with a smirk.

Rhys shrugged his shoulders.

“Only if you promise to fuck me after we’re done. I’m _starving_ for some sort of attention.” Rhys huffed as he put out his cigarette and folded his arms.

Jack shook his head with a snort.

“Pretty and bossy. God you’re too fucking much cupcake.” Jack chuckled affectionately.

Rhys grinned toothily.

“I’m afraid you created a monster big boy.” He snarled cheekily.

Jack returned the kid’s wide smile.

“I’m afraid I did kiddo.”


End file.
